


You're My Everything

by darlindear, Wander (yoimwander)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Being Lost, Canon-Typical Violence, Cooking Lessons, Denial of Feelings, Domestic, Drama, Enemies to Friends, Existential Crisis, Falling In Love, First Time, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, IN SPACE!, M/M, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:55:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 131,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24654196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlindear/pseuds/darlindear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoimwander/pseuds/Wander
Summary: After Felix digs them out of the rubble of a fallen alien tower, he's eager for revenge on the Sim Troopers. Locus, however, is tired. Miraculously, Felix complies with his wishes and they ditch Chorus on a stolen ship. Problem: it's garbage. They're lost in space. And feelings are stupid.
Relationships: Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez
Comments: 102
Kudos: 80





	1. Scene I

**Author's Note:**

> This story is co-written between Darlin ( _@darlindear_ ) and Wander ( _@yoimwander_ ).
> 
> Fully written in roleplay style. We've altered the formatting to reflect this original "back-and-forth" as much as possible, as that's how the story and pacing is meant to be read.
> 
> Currently archiving upwards of 40,000 words for this story. Chapters posted here are the edited versions of each scene, and will be released once re-formatted for AO3 as we continue to write.
> 
>  **left** side LOCUS, **right** side FELIX
> 
> \---

_He listened._

After all of it, their plans for Chorus turn to rubble with the carcass of a ship pulled from space sticking out. Locus casts tired eyes hidden beneath his UNSC issued mask, painted, to a partner he's only called such this last near decade out of _habit._

Felix. Felix. The name rings in his head, bouncing off every corner until it rises to a cacophony of noise so overwhelming it rattles aching bones from the inside.

_He listened._

Huddled safely behind the smaller man's light shield while the alien tower rumbled and fell, Locus had wondered, then, just why Felix would go through the trouble of protecting him at all. They'd been worse than strangers while stirring up this whole civil war—they'd been on opposite sides, enemies. It was easier to let that image sink in, simply to uphold it. Though with the smaller man's body so close Locus could smell the heat of him for the first time in years, a flicker of recognition ignited and Locus had felt safe.

It felt like home.

A stupid thought.

A _dangerous_ thought.

Felix hasn't been his home since long before Chorus, and years before even _then._ But there was no denying the sensation of noise so unbearable, of the force of two monoliths colliding, of rock and debris flooding around them, their armor, crushing them tight, close, and how Felix had held himself steady the entire time as the only thing standing between Locus and a well-deserved death.

Every incident with agent Washington had flooded his brain the moment he blinked open his eyes only to be yanked from the rubble by that strength Felix only really showed when he was particularly angry. He'd been pulled to a broken, sputtering Falcon with an engine blown out, tossed inside, and sat there contemplating words like _monster_ and _true soldier_ while Felix's spitting anger faded to a familiar white noise.

"Stop," Locus had said, once those simmering words sunk in and he realized where Felix was taking them.

"Enough."

On his back, with both hands folded neatly over his chest, Locus hadn't anticipated anything other than to speak his final words to the room. Had expected to be ignored, pushed to the side, and driven to his final resting ground, where his body would give out and his bones wouldn't be cared for enough to even be buried.

"We're done. It's over. I want to leave. I'm _tired_."

He doesn't know what he said in what order, but somehow, miraculously, Felix _listened._

One quick trip to a FAC outpost too scrambled in the chaos to really notice their presence, they'd stolen a medium sized slipspace carrier, Locus' tired body tossed into the passenger seat up front, and Felix had flown them away, off of Chorus, hyperdrive kicking in to get them as far away as possible as quickly as possible.

It isn't until the slipstream engines slow down and they land in a dead zone with nothing but empty space around them that Locus lolls his head to the side, helmet still firmly in place, and watches his partner with a quiet gaze less pointed than perhaps some others he's given in the past.

Locus doesn't know what he is anymore. Does all that blood on his hands have no merit? Is there a point to any of this?

He sucks in a sharp breath, panicked, heart racing unhealthily, and tries to release it slowly.

_Felix listened to him._

Now what?

  


Of all the times to pick to grow a fucking conscious, _why_ did it have to be at that moment?

The scenario runs through his head over and over again, like a simulation (and fuck if that word doesn't make his gut boil now).

The way Locus had laid on the ground, like he was already dead and waiting to be buried right there in the dirt, hands over his chest, eyes closed. X marking the spot over the guy's helmet, still firmly attached to his armor, but even after all this time Felix can just _tell_ the expression waiting behind there.

Felix, of course, had been cursing up a storm, making plans on how to _get back_. Needing to see the light leave their eyes as he took out each and every one of those Sim Troopers, gleeful and happy for the first time in what? A decade or more. Since they took this shit show of a job.

Yet, with one word Locus had stopped him completely, stock still.

_"Enough."_

And they left, just like that, words pulled from Locus like water from a strainer, drips of feeling and thoughts, jumbled together but real for the first time in a really fucking long time.

Doesn't stop Felix from going over it again and again and really, he can only _just_ believe that it happened, it was real, and this is how it's all turned out.

So many fucking years of the Chorus planet and the disgusting people and Control and everything is just given up in the blink of an eye.

There's no do-overs, no second chances.

Not that those were something Felix was accustomed to to begin with, but this situation in particular?

He damn well wishes he could go back.

How far back?

To the very fucking beginning, thank you very much. And maybe that's why he'd left in the first place. Not only did Locus ask, really truly say something that he needed, but Felix was kinda already thinking in the back of his mind that they've never been more fucked over than this whole shit show. The Great War was child's play in comparison. They'd gotten out perfectly intact, trusting each other implicitly, knowing they weren't alone, not for a second.

How many years has it even been since he thought of them that way? Since his brain wasn't picking apart every little inch of Locus, of Control, of the godforsaken Reds and Blues.

Felix can't remember. Can barely see past the vivid righteous fury he carries around like a chip on his shoulder. Hell even the vast, cold emptiness of space isn't enough to cool him off, apparently. Though that could be partially the fact that their ship? Definitely a piece of shit.

"It's dead, Jim."

An archaic reference that Locus will no doubt ignore, like he's been ignoring Felix for all of their journey so far, but whatever. He has to speak, has to have some outlet for the fizzling, boiling heat in the hollow of his chest.

He doesn't move, doesn't speak otherwise for a long moment, just listens to the shaky breathing beside him.

  


If anything has remained steady in their years together, first as members of the same UNSC platoon, then as vigilante partners, and most recently bitter enemies in a play that lasted so long reality had started to bend around the edges—

If _anything_ has remained steady, it's been Felix's mouth. His sharp tongue and biting banter.

For a very long time after they steal their getaway ship, the other man doesn't say anything at all. It's a cold sensation. The room stale and quiet, while Locus' head rings with loud bitter words, half-thoughts hurled from left to right lobes.

Felix speaks, and it cinches those inner voices tight. Locus clings to those idiotic words. The glassiness of his gaze, hidden behind the helmet, zeroes in on an orange shoulder pad. He tries to focus. The thoughts in his brain muffle.

His slow breath out suddenly stops, then rushes quickly. A huff. Amused, maybe. Anxious. Shocked that this is where they are now—in space, away from that godforsaken planet, from the Sim Troopers, from Control. From anyone and everything.

With a groan, Locus hefts himself up from his beaten splay across the passenger seat. He gives a quick glance to the control panel spread out before them, checking internal metrics to make sure the artificial atmosphere isn't the broken thing in question before unclasping his helmet and dropping it to the floor beside his chair.

He presses a finger against his temple, hair plastered down with sweat and grime, cut so short now, and rubs just above the X crisscrossed over his face.

Still unfocused, head ringing, it takes him more than a moment to figure out what Felix is talking about.

Their slipspace drive is broken. They'd overloaded it with that initial jump, and it had spat them out in the middle of god-knows-where because _the navigation system isn't working either._

Locus sucks in another deep breath. Starts to chuckle, softly, a nervous energy tugging at his chest and shoulders, impossible to contain. It rises from that quiet sound until he's laughing, genuinely laughing, head turned away from his companion as if that will hide his reaction. He's cut off abruptly by a stabbing pain in his ribs.

Apparently getting buried underneath a mountain of stone had come with some negative effects.

The stabbing ache is enough to snap him back to reality. He settles back against the chair. Takes more delicate breaths.

  


What was that phrase?

If I didn't have bad luck I wouldn't have any at all.

That's pretty much the basis of how Felix has been living his life over the past few years but this is really taking the cake on _extreme fuck ups._

How was he supposed to know that the ship they'd jumped was a fucking tosser? It was the only one to find in such a rush, the only one that looked like no one would notice if it was missing. All points in its favor at the time, but now it's obvious that this ship was a barely functioning trash can fire.

Felix, by all means, is a master of many trades. A very skilled marksman, excellent hand to hand combat specialist, tactical genius -- but nowhere on his very extensive, very impressive resume does it say _mechanic._

Still he's a smart guy, right? Tubes and wires fit a machine, couldn't be too hard to figure out. Which is exactly what he's about to set out doing when a motion to his side draws his full attention.

Locus huffs out what could be interpreted as an amused noise, but Felix knows better. Can't help but watch as the guy stands with another sound, this one more exhausted, pained. He never speaks, just stands for a long moment, removes his helmet to reveal a mimicked X of a scar across his face. How long has it been since Felix has seen that?

Locus feels like a ghost.

Looks like one, pale, grimy and _different_. When did he cut his hair?

Felix finds himself frowning at his own thoughts, confused even though that heated anger still feels like a bubble of anxiety in his chest, it's easy to ignore in lieu of Locus. Who is now acting _completely fucking weird._

He's laughing.

Full out genuine (hysterical?) laughter from his gut.

Felix takes his own helmet off, worried (only that he's trapped himself with a madman, obviously) and needing to see past the haze of his own helmet for a moment.

Locus sombers rather quickly after that, some unknown kick to his stomach, apparently, with the way he holds himself. Felix isn't quite ready to give up his vigilance over this man. Just in case he is actually going batshit.

"You done?"

Some snarky little reply he also can't quite help, one that rings out over the silence on the bridge as Locus returns to the seat beside Felix. His look isn't very kind, skeptical, wary.

Who is this man and _why_ are they here, again?

  


_You done?_

Is he?

Locus turns a grey gaze towards his companion. Partner. Hadn't had any particular quip to bite back with, but if he did, it would have died on his tongue.

He's greeted with a flesh and bone face. Sharp cheekbones. Brown eyes, like the underside of stripped bark. A particular curl to Felix's lips accompanies his tone, but it's been years since Locus has seen that expression. Same buzzed sides, hair longer on the top, a slick, neat haircut.

Felix looks so much the same, it's like staring at a photograph. There's a roiling heat beneath his gaze, more pointed than Locus has seen before. Weathered.

What would Felix of the past— _Isaac_ —say to Locus now? Not Sam. Locus.

Call him a monster? A machine? Deranged, surely. Delusional.

Might not call him much, before Locus was abandoned and left to his own devices once again.

For a moment, the fear of _who Felix was_ laying witness to _who Locus is now_ freezes up his bones. He goes stiff with an unblinking stare before the present world trickles in again.

"I am," he says, clearing his throat of rough gravel.

He leans in his chair, prodding between layers of armor to try and pinpoint where the pain originates from. Ribs. Nothing seems to be outright broken but he'll have to wait for the adrenaline to wear off before making that judgment.

"How bad is it?"

Voice falling to that strictly for business tone when he nods toward the ship's control panel.

  


Years they'd been together, before all this Chorus shit, Felix knows that to be the truth. Understands that he's known Sam for half a lifetime, and vice versa, and yet this man?

Isn't the one he'd known.

Not by a long shot in the cold, stale dark.

Has his face, skin a deep nut brown, eyes that same stormy grey (that never made sense in their possibility, if he's honest), but this was not _Samuel Ortez._

Though really, it isn't like Felix is anyone other than his mercenary handle, not anymore anyway. Nah, that guy died a long time ago, buried alive by the war, anxieties, pain. The thought of it would be hurtful if Felix had any shine left to his soul. In all reality though, he isn't certain that there's anything redeemable left in him. Just anger and this intense bone deep _hunger._

As to what that's for, well, maybe he'll find out what it is eventually. Find something to fill the void.

Until then he's stuck with it, much like he's stuck with some mentally unhinged _former partner turned pseudo enemy_ for the foreseeable future. Not a great direction his life has suddenly taken but what can a guy do, right? Roll with the punches. Try not to take any to the face while he's at it.

"Well on a scale of one to ten, I'd say gangbang level of fucking boned."

Felix finally takes his eyes off Locus as the guy reaches into his armor, feeling around the same spot that he'd been drawn to before, after his little laughing fit. Probably bruised ribs, Felix's arm still feels like fucking jello, but everything seemed to hold up alright. Locus would be fine.

"Not that I'm a professional, but looks like Nav is down and the slipspace accelerator is absolutely botched."

A sigh, exasperated, frustrated, _tired_. Felix leans his head back against the seat, eyes sliding shut.

  


For an impossibly long amount of time—seconds that feel like hours—Felix just _looks_ at him.

It isn't something Locus would have considered even just yesterday. One of his partner's lingering looks. But today, and hopefully only for a short while, Locus feels rather vulnerable to such things.

Picked apart, his insides raked through and found wanting. Too much trouble to put back together.

Felix's first answer explains nothing. Fortunately, Locus was born with an eerie patience well fitting for a sniper in the field, and particularly fitting for this man. So he waits. Tries to calm the beat of his heart. They're out of immediate danger and yet it still races.

It's with the second, real answer that Felix gives, when their current state of affairs clicks.

Lost in space, with no jump drive to travel vast distances, no navigation system to even point them in a direction to travel if they could, and no mechanic qualified to fix these problems.

Stiff and sitting upright in his chair, Locus processes this information with a steely expression. Blank. Projections and numbers flying through his head, replacing the clutter from before.

With a task, he can keep moving. Keep surviving.

"It could take weeks to fix the navigational system."

Flicks his gaze to the side, one eyebrow arching so slightly when he looks Felix's way.

"Unless you picked up any new skills living with the New Republic."

  


Well at least some things never change.

It's almost alarmingly relaxing to think as Felix watches the man beside him process the information he's given.

As always, Locus sorts through Felix's words, easily disregarding useless drivel to pick out the meat and bone of what he's actually saying. Though it does raise the question of which reaction Felix honestly prefers, the amusingly confused stares, or the blankly calculating one that's focused away from him now.

Neither really, in this moment, truth be told, but only because _everything is bad lost in space, apparently._

_It could take weeks._

Locus is right, of course, because _of course._

They're so fucking screwed.

Felix doesn't open his eyes as he feels a harsh stare pin him down. Doesn't so much as twitch even as heat floods the nape of his neck, awareness, fight or flight responses going haywire in reaction to a predator's gaze.

"I picked up many new skills, some more useful than others."

An easy fact, though Felix does lift one lazy eyelid to peer over at Locus.

"Can't say I studied in the little rocket scientist room to know how to fix a _slipspace accelerator_ though. Must've been out sick that day."

His placid expression morphs into an unamused sneer for all of a moment before Felix has himself wrangled back under control. He closes his eye once again, breathes deep and even, the exact opposite of calm.

  


There remains a safe familiarity in the way Felix lounges across from him, lids shut, his posture relaxed and languid. Though every scrap of body language points to a complete lack of interest in Locus' words, the man knows better.

His partner has never been truly ignorant, and rarely is caught off guard.

A low hum of recognition accompanies the answer provided to him. Locus stands from his seat once again and takes long-legged strides toward the control panel. Uses the holographic touch screen to pull up diagnostics. The accelerator comes up dead in the water, so to speak, but he's able to at least pull up a diagram showing its particular model and build. He'll have to reverse engineer everything. Teach himself from the ground up.

The likelihood that an instruction manual might be lying around somewhere for just such a task is slim to none.

It might take weeks to fix nav, but it will certainly take _months_ to fix this.

He clears his throat. Winces on a frustrated inhale, fingers flying to his right side once again.

"I will take stock of the store room."

It's the only thing within his control at the moment. The realization eats at him.

Still, _Felix had listened._ And yes, their getaway was poorly planned and ill-advised, but that doesn't matter because they're _away._

Locus isn't a soldier here. Not a mercenary, either.

The thought is daunting.

Without sparing a glance towards his partner (a somewhat difficult task—it's been so long since he's seen Felix's face that soaking in every feature, each little detail, already feels like an addiction he must actively curb), Locus turns on his heel and strides out of the cockpit.

  


Movement piques his interest as Felix lay still and quiet in the co-captain's chair. Locus isn't quiet with his steps, though it isn't for anyone's benefit. No, he's heavy footed because he's distracted by the thought of the warp engine, by his own injuries. Felix noticed the way he was holding himself, bruised up from the fall, and has to wonder for a moment why he isn't feeling as worn down as he knows he should be.

Adrenaline, maybe, pure unadulterated rage, probably. He doesn't have the space in his head to feel any hurt that could possibly be contained within his body. Doesn't know how to think of anything but the stupid fucking Sim Troopers, of Control fucking them over. And yeah, _them._

Because as far apart as he and Locus have become, it's always ever been them. Together as soldiers, as mercenaries, as partners.

Fuck, it's all Felix has, if he's honest with himself (which he tries very hard not to be) so it isn't like he can just _forget_ Locus is in the middle of this with him. Especially not now that they've literally abandoned their mission, their long, tedious, soulsucking mission of how many years now? Only to be stranded in the middle of bumfuck endless space with a jerry rigged slipspace accelerator.

This?

Actually can't get worse.

Hell, being sucked out in the vacuum of space would be preferable, if Felix didn't _like himself_ so goddamn much.

No, he knows he deserves better. Just isn't exactly certain if he's going to be able to get it or not.

Locus pulls him from that rather morbid train of thought, however, voice a low, empty thing as he speaks about the store room. Felix hadn't opened his eyes the entire time, knew the other guy was checking out the control panel, just as Felix had moments before. Knew exactly what was being shown, how _royally fucked_ they actually were.

Doesn't matter, not really, the thought of dying alone and cold in the vast nothingness of space does very little to quell the indignant rage just boiling beneath Felix's skin.

He doesn't move as Locus leaves, just follows the echo of footsteps and kind of, maybe a little bit, hopes the guy won't come back.


	2. Scene II

With minimal observation, Locus finds the purpose of this ship. _The Attenborough_ —or _The Attie_ as he'd seen in various logs while scouring through two terminals located at the front and back of the ship—was reclaimed from the Federal Army of Chorus by the rebel group, with the purpose of quick, stealthy planetary transportation of food to other hidden outposts scattered across Chorus.

The navigation system had been reconstructed to work planet-side. The hyperspace accelerator had broken upon reclamation, and there seemed to have been no efforts to actually repair it.

In short, _The Attie_ was quite possibly the poorest stellar vessel they could have stolen.

Fortunately, Locus finds the store room and the transport bay completely stocked with perishables and nonperishables alike. After triple checking his count and running numbers through his head, he figures there's enough food for two people to last three years without initiating famine protocol. Five, with creative fasting.

The vessel is medium sized. Not clunky enough for sustained living, but clearly intended to act as a temporary home for a three man crew. Two private bedrooms (one with a collapsible cot provided alongside the military-issued, somewhat uncomfortable looking bed); an exercise room with the equipment pushed to one side to make way for three bean bag chairs, a very old television, and an even older gaming console; and a small utility kitchen leading into the crew's pantry.

Satisfied with his findings, Locus makes his way back to the cockpit. Felix is there, as he'd expected him to be. Hadn't heard footsteps clanging around while perusing the ship, and he's certain his partner (?) doesn't currently have the will to be _delicate_ , so the logical conclusion is that the other man simply hadn't deigned to move.

Slowly, with precision, Locus strides back to the passenger seat and bends over at the waist to retrieve the helmet he'd discarded earlier. Feels a heat, a sort of tension in the air that prods at his gut. As if he's done something wrong. Which, typically, isn't ever really a concern. But things change.

He feels _himself_ changing even now. With nothing else to lend his mind to, desperate thoughts swell in his head. _Who is he?_ And, _what is his purpose?_

Locus shakes his head, straightening back up to tuck the helmet beneath his armpit.

"There are two bedrooms," he says. "The one to the right is mine."

The one with the cot, which he'll have to collapse and store somewhere.

"An exercise room. A small kitchen and pantry."

He steps toward the exit again while giving his report, too accustomed to spending as little time in Felix's presence as possible. Force of habit.

Over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, he says, "Plenty of food. You can eat what you like."

A pause. Longer than necessary, but not so long that it gives his companion much time to respond.

"I left some strawberries on the counter."

He doesn't make eye contact, but he certainly feels rooted to the spot.

  


As with everything in his life so far, Felix's wishes for the moment don't actually come to fruition.

He's still mentally stewing over, y'know, _everything_ when Locus shows back up in the cockpit, steps more measured this go around. But the guy is a walking definition of the word calculated, so it isn't like Felix is expecting anything less. Doesn't make the guy's reentry any less fucking annoying though.

Why couldn't he just leave well enough alone for the moment? Felix isn't yapping his ear off, as per usual, hasn't even moved from the spot in his chair, so why in the world does Locus think for just one second that Felix wants to see his dumb ugly mug?

Trick question, he doesn't.

Because it's Locus' fault, right? Felix wouldn't have left Chorus at all, actually, no matter how much that thought niggled at the back of his mind. No, he would have died trying to make every last Red and Blue suffer as he had the last however many years. Because it's their fault too, goddamnit.

Everyone's but Felix's he'll tell you that for damn sure.

Locus doesn't speak for a long moment, just slides his way into the room, slow and precise as always only to stop where he'd placed his helmet. At that, Felix looks up, doesn't want to watch the guy, but it's almost like his body fights against that conscious decision. Like his eyes can't help but seek Locus out in the room, no matter what.

What's with that fucking haircut anyway?

He almost says those exact words, but Locus beats him to the punch with a standard debrief about their current living situation. Felix shouldn't have expected anything less, not with the way he'd heard the guy snooping about the spacecraft.

Two bedrooms though, _thank fuck_ , and apparently enough to keep them going for a good long time. Long enough to get the Navigation fixed, certainly, but as for the accelerator? Well Felix wasn't exaggerating when he'd spoken up about not being a goddamn rocket scientist.

They were, well and truly, super fucking boned.

And not in the good way either, which was just icing on top of that particular cake. One Felix definitely isn't going to think about any time in the near future.

Something cruel is just on the tip of his tongue as Locus falls into some weighted silence. Felix parts his lips, snarled to show sharp teeth more than willing to bite, when he's the one that has to pull back an injured appendage.

_"I left some strawberries on the counter."_

Words hit him like a freightliner and he's left blinking, stunned.

Of course Locus would remember some vague tidbit of information like that, he was a walking goddamn machine, but to see it put into action. To see that little olive branch extended, and Felix is sure as shit that that's what it is, some kind of backward apology or something like that, it feels ... 

"You better not have taken the best room."

All he can think to say in response for the moment, not really knowing how to feel with all the conflicting stupid _emotions_ in his chest.

They're going to die there, aren't they?

After living through so much. Locus and Felix are going to die, snuffed out like an insignificant candle in the wind.

  


Shoulders, which had felt so weighed down moments before, lighten when Felix speaks.

The man has been uncharacteristically quiet. A few sharp sentences here and there, but mostly he'd been resting back against the pilot seat before Locus had left, and hadn't even interrupted the debriefing.

Something is clearly wrong.

Still, Felix accepts his words and only shoots back a familiar quip.

Quietly, Locus turns around, his back to the exit, and tips his head to the side while roaming eyes travel up the other man's lean frame.

Grey sinks across Felix's form like low clouds shrouding some unsuspecting village in early morning mist. Locus lingers. Over shoulder pads and scuffed metal pieces of armor. Up the arch of a lean neck, past a sharp jawline and sneering lips.

_Sneering_ lips, like Felix had intended for sharper words to come out, but somewhere along the way they'd been abandoned for something else.

Oh, yes. Something _is_ wrong.

Quickly, Locus lends heavy thoughts to the events of the past few hours. The collapse of an ancient alien tower. His companion's desire to pursue the bumbling Sim Troopers as if the repercussions of their idiocy could have ever been predicted. How Locus had stopped that pursuit, somehow, with shaky words spoken in what he assumed would be his final hours.

"Both rooms are of equal quality."

Voice even. He blinks, waiting for the weight of Felix's anger to crash down upon him.

  


A pause in response from Locus isn't something that Felix finds surprising. The guy's always been so very much the same. Any reaction is like pulling teeth, anything that doesn't have to do with the _mission_ or their employer, it's like nothing else has ever mattered but what they were laser focused on.

But now there's nothing, so what could possibly be going on in Loc's head?

Nothing, by the looks of it, as Felix draws his attention up and down his "partner's" body. He looks the same as always except for that damnable haircut, the wry look of his eyes, how pale he is.

_"I'm tired, Felix."_

Yeah, well he sure as hell looks like it, but really? Who gives a shit. They were soldiers from the moment they were born. They didn't get tired, never stopped, not for one goddamn second, and when did Locus forget that?

Have they really been away from each other that long, that the core of their very beings has just been fundamentally changed?

Felix doesn't know if he's the same either. Doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

Who gives a shit.

Anger roils and boils in his gut, something hot and sour that creeps up into the back of his throat to sit, eroding his vocal cords. Felix feels like sighing, like screaming, like throwing question after question Locus' way.

_Why did we leave, how did I let you move me, who are you?_

He remains quiet instead as he stands from the chair, gives a long stretch to finally feel the aches and pains flare in his ribs and legs. He'd ask about any med kits they have hanging around, but he kind of wants the pain to fester and grow like the rage in his chest.

"Sweet."

It isn't all he could think to say, not by a fucking long shot, but it's the only word that he graces the room with as he grabs his helmet. Felix doesn't look to Locus again as he leaves the cockpit, can't really stand the sight of him in this moment. Doesn't know if he'll ever be able to, honestly, and he's the only one Felix will ever see again in his short lifetime.

Karma's a fucking bitch.


	3. Scene III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working through reformatting archived scenes! Hoping to get this out more consistently. Thanks for the kudos and comments, we appreciate them!

Bruised ribs will heal in roughly two to five more weeks. Typical lacerations have already closed up. Bone-deep exhaustion lifts quietly after ten days cooped up inside _The Attie_ , but it isn't this newfound energy that has Locus slamming clenched fists against a punching bag he'd set up in the exercise room this morning.

The harsh _thump_ of flesh hitting sand rings through the small space. Three beanbag chairs, an old television, and a gaming console lay abandoned along the far wall.

The source of Locus' displeasure has no solution. And so, there is no point in dwelling on it. Yet there remains an inevitable trail of thought that carves deep furrows in desperate, inner parts of himself that he thought had shriveled away long ago.

The voices, for instance.

_Thump._

Ghosts of the past that scream and screech, whisper, laugh, glee in his pain, all hissing to an uncomfortable white noise that grows and grows until the sound presses behind his eyes and nothing will shut them up.

_Thump._

Well.

One thing had always shut them up. But that one thing isn't currently talking to him. _At all._ Which is a whole world of strange that Locus, quite simply, had never prepared for.

Murderous, he could handle. Ranting and pissed, yes, he's seen that side of Felix plenty of times before. But _quiet?_

During his charade with the Federal Army of Chorus, Locus had had minimal contact with Felix. The noise never grew too loud in his head however. Those small meetings held every few months, Felix ranting (at Control, not even at Locus himself) were like sips of water while crossing a desert.

_Thump._

God, does that mean Locus _misses him?_ The banter, mostly one sided, the quips, the soothing tenor that strikes through other thoughts like a pointed knife and commands Locus' attention.

Surely not.

_Thump. Thump, thump._

Sweating, Locus takes a step back and wipes a bandage-wrapped hand over his brow. Sucks in deep breaths that cause him a significant amount of hurt, but he's already rested for a week and now he's feeling restless.

His commandeered clothing doesn't fit, everything a bit too small and too tight for his tastes. Sweats are the most comfortable, however, and he'd found a black tee that at least covers his stomach, even if the fit isn't exactly loose.

They're free agents now. He's been working on Nav, but it's slow going. There's plenty of food to last quite a while. He doesn't even want to think about that broken accelerator. The noise inside his head keeps screaming about how much of a failure he is.

And Felix _won't talk to him._

_Thump, thump, **thump**._

Last hit comes hard. The punching bag swings mightily, and its metal stand wobbles with the momentum, sending the whole set up toppling to the ground.

Locus hovers over it, bent slightly, sweaty strands of short hair clinging to his brow, chest heaving while he tries to suck in enough oxygen to calm himself.

  


It's easier than it should be, avoiding the only other person around for literal lightyears shouldn't come as second nature to anyone, but especially to a guy like Felix.

Nah, he eats breathes and sleeps the attention of others, for one reason or another, and usually seeks out people (or they seek him) like a magnet because he _needs_ it in some twisted way. Always has and always will.

Though really, that might not be true at all, considering it's been ten full days since he's spoken more than a handful of words to Locus. And it's not difficult at all, not with the roiling of rage still bright and brilliantly hot right beneath the surface of his skin. It's like an itch that he can't quite scratch, the need to see violence, the blood of Red and Blue alike, and the fact that it'll never happen?

Only fuels that fire even more.

So no, not difficult, but what is a little taxing is being _left with all of that._

Normally it's easy to let shit go, right? Because Felix can just rant about it, talk and talk about everything and nothing until it gets out of his head. He doesn't want to talk to Locus, but he needs to yell and scream and tell Locus how much of a fucking reject he is for getting them into this mess to begin with.

Coward, he wants to say.

Some perfect machine.

Goddamn idiot.

But at the same time? He'd seen the guy's face, as Locus had asked them to leave, and thinks of it every time he wants to scream.

Which is half the reason he never does.

The other half?

A multitude of things, really.

Locus doesn't look like Felix's partner, doesn't act like him, doesn't _feel_ like him. Which is awkward to think because it isn't like they were ever that close to begin with, but it's something that's just in the air like ozone, hovering between them.

Whatever. Not Felix's problem.

What is his problem? Lunch.

Which, unfortunately, means he has to pass by the designated recreation area, where Locus has decided to spend most of his time (besides the cockpit working on the Nav system, a pointless venture but y'know whatever floats his boat). Ignoring Locus is a new favorite pastime, however, so Felix decides to totally not even look inside as he passes by. Easy.

Only a noise, unusual, catches his attention right as he's at the doorway and Felix stops still, uncertain, and peaks through the door.

Locus is there, because of course he is, hunched over what looks to be a fallen punching bag. He looks better than when they'd left, color back in his face, though that could be from the obvious exertion, actually. Because he definitely looks like he's been going at the thing for awhile, sweat matting short hair to his forehead, shirt soaked through.

Also, another infuriating little tidbit, _what the fuck_ was with all the clothing around here, huh? Why was everything Locus put on his body _too small?_ And his stupid fucking hair is about to be the straw that breaks Felix's camel. Or whatever the hell that saying is.

Felix doesn't move though, for some reason. Stays rooted to the spot, just looking into the room with cold eyes at the man who's condemned them to an early death.

  


The thing about being a soldier is it never really leaves the blood. Because a true soldier—or at least the shattered remnants of what Locus is still trying to figure out _what a true soldier even is_ —is rarely caught unaware.

He stares at the punching bag like it's some dense carcass littering the floor. No footsteps alert him to the only other presence on the ship, but he gets the distinct feeling of being watched, and claps a hand over the raised hair on the back of his neck while straightening up.

Tugs on the hem of his shirt.

Drops his hand before turning around to confront the source of that chill racing down his spine.

To be such a slight man (well, in comparison, at least), Felix has quite a presence about him. Always commands attention in whatever room he deigns to step inside. Seems taller than he actually is, warmer than he actually is.

Typically.

Here, there is no warmth. Just a cold, dead stare centered right on Locus himself.

Not one for long talks, Locus hasn't shared more than a few passing words with Felix for the last ten days of their confinement on this ship. He'd been anticipating an outburst of some sort. None had come.

Now, he's the one who's filled to the brim with words that linger on the edge of his teeth.

_If you didn't want to go, then why did you listen to me?_

_Are we even partners anymore?_

_Why won't you talk to me?_

Locus curls an arm over his stomach. Fingertips linger at his side, digging in just enough to flare up a bright punch of pain from his ribs.

_"What?"_

The word spat out. A crack in his otherwise steely control.

  


"Why the fuck do none of your clothes _fit?_ "

Alright, so maybe not the crux of the problem, or even what Felix meant to say as soon as he opened his big fat gab, but it's what comes out and he sticks by that decision with a sneer on his face.

To match the one pointed at him in the moment, though not entirely for that reason alone.

Of course Felix is still mad, though he didn't actually imagine _Locus_ being angry for any one reason. He should be happy that Felix isn't yapping his ear off for once, thankful that Felix hasn't put a bullet through both their brains just to be done with all of it.

But no, the guy stands to his full (formidable) height and stares Felix down with that crack in his normally impenetrable exterior. There's still a weakness about him though, one in the way he immediately tugs down the shirt he's wearing -- like he just already knew it was driving Felix crazy and he couldn't help but draw attention to it just to piss him off further. But another in the way that same hand comes up to tuck close to his ribs.

They're still hella bruised then, though it doesn't really make sense why Locus would point that out so readily to a predator in the room. Unless he doesn't think that of Felix any more.

And that's just plain _rude_.

Felix stands his ground, cocks a hip to rest most of his weight on one leg, arms coming up to cross over his chest as he stares Locus down. Eyes are dark, a heavy stare that just dares Loc to say the wrong thing.

  


That ... is not the expected response.

Locus blinks dumbly at the man across the room for a solid twenty seconds. Takes note of Felix's relaxed stance, weight shifted to one side, and the darkness in his eyes more yawning than all the space around them.

Waits.

It isn't until he's counted another twenty in his head that Locus realizes nothing else is coming. That the tirade begins and ends there, with such an inane question, and that Felix looks more likely to physically attack him than open his mouth and _tell him off._

Because Locus deserves it, doesn't he? He didn't die on the battlefield. He didn't complete the mission. He somehow, unexplainably, convinced Felix to leave, because he was _done_.

Shoulders squared up to their full breadth, Locus takes a pointed step closer. Grey eyes go flat. He breathes in. Drops his arm. Both hands dangle at his sides, clenched into tight fists.

"Say what you want to say."

It's a demand. Firm, low.

He needs to hear it.

He needs Felix to say something. More than a passing quip. More than this heavy stare reaching past his skin and carving out his insides.

He needs it.

  


It's not exactly the reaction he'd been expecting, that vacant stare that Locus gives him as soon as words fly from Felix's lips. Though really, what could he really expect from such an inane question? Not that he would take it back if he could, because it's plaguing him just as much as anything else in this godforsaken place, so he'll bitch about it if he wants to, alright?

There's silence though, an exact forty seconds of it to be precise (counting Locus' silent moments may be something unconscious at this point, but his record is about fifteen seconds before reaction and he'd worked really damn hard to rattle the guy up for that), before Locus' expression morphs into something harder. Something more like Felix had predicted.

And with that it's easier to react to.

Which is to say that Felix doesn't do much of anything, even as Locus stands up straight. Fuck, he squares up more like, because yeah Felix has seen that before a few times. Locus looks downright ready to brawl with the way he takes a step forward, arms dropped, hands clenched into fists.

Some giddy, gurgling feeling bubbles in Felix's chest. He could grin with it, giggle at how ticklish and _good_ it feels to get a rise out of the steel statue across from him.

He just manages to refrain, however, and keeps his own expression cold and passive. Felix is not so easily intimidated by Locus, not any more.

"Did I not just do that?"

A solitary brow raises at his question, but otherwise Felix doesn't move.

  


Felix is fucking with him.

Locus is perfectly aware of this. Had figured it out on day three, after giving plenty enough time for his partner to really settle into the place and let their situation truly sink in. After allowing lingering adrenaline and shock to leave the system. After taking count and coming up with exactly _five_ sentences spoken in three days.

So yes. Locus is aware.

This knowledge does not, however, settle the enraged, jittery feeling in his gut, or quiet the hiss in his head that tells him he's bad, wrong, _weak_ for giving up.

Locus is not a soldier. He hasn't been for a very long time. He was a mercenary once, but even that's gotten lost on the way.

He doesn't know what he is now. He's nothing. A ghost. The memory of a man he used to be. An idea. A weapon, though poorly constructed. Not even a machine.

_Nothing._

"No," he says, and as bland as he would like his tone to come out, it only sounds tight.

"You did not."

Felix is fucking with him, and it's _working._

That's worse than anything else. Locus has always been weak to this man and his games. He's gotten used to them over time, has learned the rules and how to keep himself safe, but this is an entirely new game with a new set of rules and he really, really doesn't like it.

It leaves him tight and antsy. Like all of his crazy is coalescing and weighing him down.

He should just open the airlock and get it over with. Let Felix ignore an empty ship. Maybe that would be the best option.

Locus parts his lips as if to say something else, but nothing comes out. He shuts his mouth. Releases a deep breath, flaring his nostrils.

  


As used to fucking with people as Felix is, there's something decidedly _different_ about this. Usually, it feels good, y'know, in that strange kinda fucked up way Felix understands is wholly singular to him. Like it's just in his head to gain pleasure from making other people spin their wheels trying to keep up with him, and it's even better when they can't.

Locus hasn't ever really been one of those people, probably the reason he's stuck around so long. He's calculating and observant, can always see Felix's games and tricks as they happen and understands how to keep himself detached from it. This is different, however, because Felix? Well, he's never wanted to actively _hurt_ Locus with it.

And that's exactly what he's doing now. Has been doing for the last ten days, intentionally creating this divide between them with his silence, his own petulance. Just to see how long it'll take for Locus to implode from the unknown, because that was really what Locus hated, right? Not understanding the situation in front of him, not being in control, not knowing the exact reaction of others at any one point in time.

He expected Felix to speak, continues to expect it even now, so _fuck that._

At least it feels good to be unpredictable again, to be able to effect Locus without so much as a word. Kicks that giddy feeling in Felix's chest up to eleven as he watches Locus continue to stew across the room.

Felix doesn't so much as flinch at the tight tone he's given, the downright murderous look (that only he understands to be as such, considering Locus' expression is still made of stone).

"I did, actually. All I have to say to you."

His own tone is haughty, holier-than-thou, something Felix has perfected over the years, but he doesn't exactly make any move to leave.

This feels like it's been a long time coming, screw the ten days, it's been years in the making. They'll kill each other, or they won't, but it's been bound to happen at some point.

It would feel cathartic, maybe, the last person in the world who _knows his name_ snuffing him out. Probably the better way to go than the alternative.

  


_All I have to say to you._

Of all the stinging words Felix has thrown his way over the years, these are perhaps the most biting.

The thought that a man with no lack of words could be done with throwing anything at him is ... daunting.

Disheartening.

Enraging.

Locus clings to that last one. Fists clench tight enough to dig blunt nails into the medical bandages he'd wrapped his knuckles in earlier. Usually, he's a much calmer, more methodical person. And somewhere in the back of his (very loud) mind, he knows Felix has latched onto a weakness and is simply twisting the knife he's already lodged there.

But knowing this, and feeling immune to it, are entirely different things.

Expression slicker than wet slate, Locus takes a deep breath, turns on his heel, then strides over to the toppled punching bag to set it back upright. It's heavy and he grunts with exertion, muscles tensing beneath a too-tight shirt while he wrangles it all back into place.

The bag swings gently and he presses his fist firmly against it just to feel its weight.

It isn't a good idea to turn his back on a predator in the room. But Locus hasn't had very many good ideas of late, and if Felix deigns to pick this moment to finish the job, he's not sure he would protest. 

Oh, he'd fight back, certainly. If only to feel flesh bruise beneath his knuckles. But Locus feels about as done with himself as Felix seems to be.

It's his fault they didn't complete their mission. His fault they fled. His fault they're stuck up here in a floating death trap, with very little hope of actually getting out alive.

Everything is his fault, and there have been too many cracks in his composure as of late for him to brush the feeling aside.

"Alright," he says, pulling his arm back before tossing a fist into the punching bag, _hard_. It hurts, but in a good way.

He hits it again, again, trying to find a place to tuck away his anger, but each punch only makes it grow, some wild beast coiling inside him, tighter and tighter, dragging important organs into a knotted spiral.

  


Interestingly enough, the reactions given are anticipated, yes, but they aren't exactly the ones that Felix wants to see and therefore are even more infuriating. Of all the things Locus could do in lieu of everything, he actually has the goddamn balls to turn his back on Felix.

The predator in the room, arguably one of the only people in the universe that could take Locus down, and the guy acts like it just doesn't even matter.

Like he really has just given up.

A pity, actually. Felix feels his upper lip raise in a snarl at what this man has become. Nothing but a shell of a person, no longer his 'true soldier', no longer a man but nothing like the machine he'd been crafting himself into either.

Who and what has Locus become that he could just turn away from their mission, from the purpose of their lives, the money and fame? Could just turn away from _Felix_ like they aren't the only ones who've ever given half a shit about each other. Even if it was a long time ago.

Even if they're strangers now, doesn't that count for something?

Felix has never had a heart, never felt much of anything for anyone, since he watched his own family fall apart because of his selfishness. Now one lapse in judgement in that area, for whatever reason (he still can't quite figure it out), and look where it's gotten him?

Stuck on a spacecraft in the middle of nowhere with a man that …

No, he's gone over it enough, screamed about it in his head over and over, confused at himself at Locus, so fucking far from understanding what went wrong and how they could fix any of it. It won't happen. This is a man that isn't a man anymore at all, but Felix isn't anything but a monster either.

What did it matter?

They're done with each other, that's clear enough to see.

 _"Alright."_ Locus speaks, fists connecting again and again with the punching bag, shirt pulling tight over his back and shoulders, hair cropped short, making him look like a caricature of himself. 

Yeah, they're done here.

Felix moves out of the doorway without another word, seemingly unperturbed. He doesn't go to the mess though, turns his unhappy ass right back around the way he came. Tucks himself back in his room where he'll rot away slowly and alone over the next few years.

Time to come to terms with that.


	4. Scene IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was able to format this scene a little sooner than anticipated! Expect updates at least once a week, if not more frequently.
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos, ya'll are great. 💚🧡

Twenty two days.

Locus has the time counted up in hours and minutes, but he's refrained from adding up the seconds because that would just be _crazy_.

Twenty two days and Felix still hasn't spoken more than a few passing sentences at him.

It's torture. Plain and simple. In no life would Locus have ever thought blissful silence free from his partner's yammering mouth would be something unpleasant, but it turns out it is, and he's had quite enough of it.

Last night had been a breaking point. He'd conjured up a nightmare starring the man in question—gleaming teeth bared and grinning while Locus was pulled beneath a swell of limbs, body parts, blood, the taste of copper filling his mouth when he tried to part his lips and call for help.

Felix hadn't come to his aide.

Had only crouched nearby, head tilted, and asked, _And just who are you?_

Locus wakes up much later in the day than typical. Usually he'd already be finishing up some repairs on the Nav system by now. He's close to fixing the damned thing, but that just means he'll have to start on the slipspace accelerator next, and the sheer daunting headache of that particular task has in some way slowed his hand on the simpler problem to fix.

He rises, short hair bed tousled, and only bothers to throw on a heather grey v-neck and black sweats before slinking out his room to seek the only other person on this ship.

Finds Felix in the rec room, settled on a bean bag chair, controller in hand, the sound of some inane game playing far too loudly in that small space.

No.

Locus will not have this anymore.

His skin is tight, only pulls tighter when he crosses his arms firmly over his chest. He doesn't speak, but squares his stance and hovers in the doorway, making his presence known with a dark, _done_ scowl.

  


So it turns out, down time? Something Felix kind of excels at. Not that there's really much to do lost in space on a fucked up ship with nothing but an absolute asshole of a partner, one game console, and a handful of exercise equipment, but hey he's making the best of what he's got.

Which means his days have been consisting of eating, sleeping, working out, and playing a completionist run of some stupid archaic game he's actually forgotten the name of. Not that it matters much, but does anything anymore?

He's asked himself that time and time again in the last twenty two days (but who's counting, right), does anything matter at all?

The answer, every time, is no.

Well, until Locus appears in the room, or walks by, or speaks to him, then all Felix can think is a huge, resounding _fuck you_. Even that's growing thin, though. He's tired of it, the rage that he feels, the one that doesn't have any place to go. Sure he talks to himself, but that's just a recipe for disaster at any one given point in time and it's very liable to drive him insane if he isn't careful.

And one thing Felix has never been, is careful.

So yes, absorbing himself in something mindless is the best option and one he's getting pretty good at if he does say so himself. Hell it's even getting easier and easier to avoid Locus in the first place. Everything's coming up _Felix_ , yup.

Which is why he's once again fully absorbed in his game when he feels a tingle of awareness shiver up his spine. Weird though, because usually around this time, Locus is in the kitchens making himself lunch. Hence Felix taking a late lunch and holing himself up in the rec room for as long as possible during the mornings.

No matter though, the stare centered in on him is easy to brush off, even if his hands do start to feel a little clammy. And the hair on the back of his neck begins to stand up.

Felix doesn't pause the game as he wipes his hands off on the dark wash jeans he's wearing, adjusts the sleeves of the lightweight hoodie he's got on, presses them down only to shove them back up to his elbow once again. Not once in that time, however, does he chance a glance over.

  


Felix ignores him. A skill that Locus never thought the man actually had, but his partner has cultivated it these past three weeks, and it's _infuriating_.

Usually one for an almost machine-like patience, it's uncanny how much this digs beneath his skin. A true sign that things have changed. Felix is the only man alive capable of moving him, and right now his partner (if they can even still call themselves partners) is moving him to a _very dangerous place._

Some undisclosed location, next to rage and two blocks from insanity.

Felix doesn't say anything. Only fiddles with his sleeve, wipes a hand over washed jeans. Locus zeroes in on every twitch, every miniscule motion, dissecting it for what it is.

The man knows he's there. And chooses not to even glance his way.

Not acceptable.

Unraveling his crossed arms, Locus takes long strides on bare feet into the room. Doesn't stop until he's standing directly in front of the television, his long legs blocking it from view.

Crosses his arms again.

"Talk to me."

Peers down at Felix, hair ruffled and grey eyes a deadly shade of flat.

  


There's no real sound to Locus' steps as he moves across the room, but that doesn't mean it isn't noticeable. It's the same as always, he commands almost as much attention as Felix, but there's a stark difference between the two of them.

Felix? Is done.

Quite possibly the most done he's ever been and he really just wants to be left alone. There's no room in his head for that hollow, stormy stare, the one that's no longer a familiar comfort. No it's nothing but a stranger's gaze and maybe that's what gets Felix most about all this.

That he and Locus could've conquered worlds together, but now there is no _Locus and Felix_. Just silence.

One that's broken by, not so surprisingly, Locus, as the guy comes to stand directly in front of the game Felix is trying to play.

"How about ya move."

There. Talked. Felix has shifted in his beanbag chair, a little precariously to the left, to make sure his character lives through whatever Locus has planned. He doesn't bother to make eye contact.

  


He's been whittled down. Pieces broken off after years of carefully constructing an icy exterior—first by Agent Washington and the Sim Troopers, and now by Felix himself.

The man speaks, yes, but it isn't what Locus wants to hear and it isn't enough. He'd rather be yelled at. Harsh remarks thrown his way. Called a coward, useless, weak. He'd rather be bitten, punched, scratched, than whatever sick punishment Felix has decided to outfit him with.

The other man leans to one side, and Locus follows with a shift of his body, making sure to be as _in the way_ as possible.

He opens his mouth to say something but only a frustrated rumble comes out at first. It vibrates through his chest, prompting Locus to drop his hands again and flex his fingers.

"No. Not until—"

Not until _what?_ Felix tells him off? Rants about how bored he is? How annoying it is to hand wash laundry in the kitchen sink?

Locus doesn't know what he wants the other man to say. Just wants to hear _something._

A storm cloud rests between his brow.

"Look at me."

  


_"Look at me."_

A command if he's ever heard one, but one thing that will never change? Felix isn't a fan of doing something just because he's told to do so. Actually makes him way more likely to do the exact opposite of said thing.

So yeah, that's what he does. Completely ignores the demand, goes so far as to lean over in the opposite direction just in time for a quick time event that would have killed his character. Close call.

"If you make me die I'm breaking your coffee mug."

Words are said with a very distinct lack of passion, however, like Felix is more upset over the fact that he's being put out over the video game than anything they've been through for the last ten years.

  


Fingers rise on instinct to press thumb and index against the bridge of his nose, rubbing just there.

The headache named _Felix_ is something Locus knows he deserves on some deeply visceral level. He's the one who insisted they left, after all. In a moment of weakness, he'd altered their course and now they're lost in space, cooped up alone (with each other), and yeah it's bad but—

Some naive part of Locus thought, after all they've been through, that he was impervious to being cast aside by this man.

The realization that this isn't true claws roughly down his throat, closing it tight.

Panicked, Locus tries to calm his mind by soaking in every feature revealed to him. Felix is a narrow man, lithe frame more suited for stealth and dexterity than brute force. Strength still lies beneath his muscles, however, readily shown at the bend of a pushed-up sleeve. Neatly trimmed hair has grown out a bit at the edges, and his eyes (some soft chocolate much more welcoming in color than expression) remind Locus, suddenly, of days long dead.

He's given nothing more than a one-line quip for his troubles, and it still isn't enough.

With quick, purposeful motions, Locus bends down just enough to slam a finger against the game console's power button, turning it off and making the TV screen go dark immediately.

He straightens back up and peers down at Felix, scowl still firmly in place.

  


What the fuck just happened?

Felix is left questioning quite loudly in his head as Locus takes one long look at him before bending down with a vicious purpose.

In one fell swoop the television goes dark and with it Felix's expression blows open in wide surprise. Still he doesn't look to Locus for a long moment, just stares at the blank screen as all that rage he'd thought he'd had buried comes blaring to the surface.

"Are you fucking _kidding me?_ "

His voice is low, dangerous, for the first time since they arrived on this stupid fucking pile of junk, as Felix stands. He rises slow to his full height and only then does he look up, his steely gaze meeting Locus'.

"What is your actual defect right now?"

  


The last three weeks have been like curling his tongue around the rind of a lemon. A vague hint of sour, something unpleasant along the edges.

Felix stands after a heated, deadly hiss of words, and looks to Locus with purpose.

_Yes._

This is what he's wanted. To be seen. To dig his teeth into the flesh of that lemon, just to feel that sour bite racing up his jaw.

Quickly, Locus wets his lower lip. Watches Felix straighten to his full height. Catch eyes. What could be such a soft brown comes at him as hard as compacted dirt.

Rage turned towards him feels cathartic in some way. He deserves this. 

He deserves more.

"You've been avoiding me," he points out, tone not in any way betraying the giddy pull inside his chest when Felix _notices him_. Instead, Locus remains as placid as ever. Expression blank.

  


No.

Nope, no, _Felix_ is the childish one here, the one that screams and throws almighty temper tantrums, okay? He's claimed that position from day one and it really feels pretty shitty to have someone else throw that back at him.

Because that's what this is, right, Locus is pissed off that he's not getting the reaction he wants to see so he's being a piece of shit to get a rise out of Felix. Plain to see, clear as day, but that?

Isn't going to happen.

Felix has already decided that he's done, so he's fucking _done_.

"I haven't been avoiding you, Locus."

He bites the words out, expression shuttering into something vaguely dead as Felix says that name out loud.

"I have nothing to say to you."

A lie blended into a truth, he means it and he doesn't, but it's not like that matters. Felix squares himself up for a moment, breath expanding in his chest, before he turns on his heel, completely intent upon breaking every cup that exists in this piece of shit ship.

  


_I have nothing to say to you._

There it is again. Words the sting more than any sharp thing dug into skin. If Locus were a lesser man, he might flinch at them. At the way Felix tosses them in his face like he's thought long and hard and the only conclusion left is to cut Locus from his life like an unnecessary limb.

He should let it happen.

It isn't like they've ever been _friends_ , and these last few years have been riddled with a vague tolerance underlying some deep rift between them. Yes, they've survived together, and that sort of bond is irreplaceable. But it's run its course.

Locus should just accept it. Accept that he's going to die here. Alone. Lonelier than he's perhaps ever been.

But Felix turns on his heel, and suddenly Locus' hand is on the other man's shoulder, and he's staring at his own fingers (digging in firmly, hard enough to wrinkle the fabric of a light hoodie) like they don't even belong to him.

And he's angry.

And he can't make his fingers unclench.

And he's not letting go.

And he's not going to die alone. Not like this. Snuffed out and whimpering. He'd rather Felix bleed him out than that.

  


There are no words to accompany the sudden hard clench to Felix's shoulder, he doesn't see it coming but manages to stop stock still as it happens. Turns his head, nice and slow, to peer over at the man who has the _actual balls_ to touch him in such a way.

Locus looks determined, angry, even as blank of a slate as the guy is, Felix can still sense the emotion from him like it's been written on his face for the world to see.

Something he would give up at this point, if he could. Isn't like it's ever done him any good, isn't like this Locus is _his Locus_.

The thought of it is enraging. Who did this man think he was? Did he not remember what Felix was capable of?

"You will take your hand off me or pull back a fucking stump."

Voice hard, eyes a dark stain against his face, Felix's expression all but dares to be defied.

  


His spine? Ice. It crystallizes, makes a cold chill race through his entire body with just a look from this man.

Felix is dangerous. No part of Locus has forgotten that. Only, there are times when men shelter their bodies from coming storms, and times when men shove their heads into the yawning mouths of hungry lions.

Locus feels decidedly closer to the second option.

As much as they've fought in the past, harsh words thrown around, Locus would never actually move to hurt Felix. He's snuffed out lives beneath his hands time and time again, yet the only time he's ever laid them on the other man has been during controlled sparring sessions.

Here, it's as if his body acts of its own accord.

Words sink in, pointed and cold. Yet Locus keeps hold.

It makes no sense. He knows he deserves this. Knows he has no right to ask for more. For any shred of relief from all the noise in his head. For this man to ease that bone-deep lonely feeling. Locus _has no right_.

But his fingers don't budge.

He parts his lips.

Closes his mouth.

Opens it again.

_"Talk to me_ , Felix. Like before."

  


"This isn't before."

Felix starts, his voice a cold line as he suddenly flips around, knocking the hand from his shoulder away harshly.

"Nothing is like _before_ , so why would I?"

There's no real inflection in his tone, but it feels like he needs to shut this down before he starts to snowball out of control. Because as much as Felix has actually been avoiding Locus for the punishment of the matter, he has been doing it for himself too.

He knows if he's here for a moment too long it'll all come spilling out, 'like before', or he's going to start throwing hands and either option feels like he's _losing_. Not like that matters either, because he's already lost, right? They both have.

But Felix wants to lose less than Locus.

"Now fuck off."

He turns to leave once again, body now quivering in rage that hides just beneath the surface of his skin.

  


Locus hears more from Felix in this moment than the man has bothered to speak to him for entire days at a time. He's already keeping an obsessive tally of the number of sentences (ten), and when Felix jerks out from beneath his hand to pin him with a withering glare, it feels, oddly, like some sort of gift.

He wouldn't shake so much if there was really nothing else to say.

This isn't like before, no. But Locus doesn't really know which _before_ Felix is talking about. Their time on Chorus? Earlier? They're less than a week shy from a full month trapped out in space, and everything already feels so flipped around. It's taken this long for Locus to acclimate to the other man's bare face, even, and he's still getting used to that.

This is nothing like before.

Maybe that's a good thing.

Still, Locus doesn't want— well. He doesn't know what he wants, let alone what he _doesn't_.

All he knows is he's taking a step forward, and there's a solid shoulder beneath his bare hand again. Gripping. Holding Felix to the spot. Because he can't do this anymore. The quiet. The clawing chasm in his chest aching to be occupied with anything other than rage.

"Enough."

Gravelly and rough. Hell, _desperate_.

  


Out, out out, he has to get out of here right now. It feels suffocating, compact and condensed, and in all honesty Felix had hated being confined on the whole _planet_ of Chorus so this ship? Already feels like a shallow grave in and of itself, right? But here Locus is crowding him into this room and Felix feels like he could claw the skin from his bones just to get to the rage in his blood, let it leak out onto the floor between them.

Turned away from the other man it feels a little easier to breathe, feels like salvation is just on the other side of the rec room door. If only he could get there, Felix would feel relief from his own boiling emotion.

Yet it never comes.

Felix makes it one long stride away from Locus before that damned hand is back on his shoulder and there's a word grated out into the air between them.

There's barely time for Felix to think that yes, yes he has had enough, before he's whipping around quick as a coiled snake. His fist is reared back and let loose in the blink of an eye, Felix doesn't even realize he's thrown a punch before the sickeningly gratifying sound of flesh hitting flesh rings out in the air.

"Fuck you, Loc."

  


The thing with violent carnivores is that, once there's blood in the air, all inhibition snaps and the world narrows down to a short series of events.

Felix turns quick as can be and before Locus can even feel a shred of gratitude for the motion, it clicks (too late) that it's a bit too violent to be an olive branch.

He jerks back after impact, one, two steps, and drags a hand upward to rub at his cheek.

The force of impact had not been pulled. Felix had put his weight into the punch, and Locus stares at him, grey eyes wide and wild, while blood bubbles up beneath the surface of his skin, eager to form a dark bruise.

This is nothing like before.

Locus reels his arm back. Throws a punch of his own, closed fist making bright and beautiful contact with the soft flesh of a pale cheek.

He's never laid a hand on Felix outside of a sparring match, and yet the smell of rage (like slick copper) fills the room and Locus can't imagine anything else would be able to properly convey just what he's feeling.

"Enough, Felix," he says, squaring up. He stands at his full height, some animal light brightening the harsh look in his eye.

  


Something vicious and giddy picks back up in Felix's gut as he watches the consequences of his actions play out. Really he hadn't even known he was pissed enough to throw a punch, it was a stupid game, hell _their lives_ could be likened to it, actually.

Worthless, meaningless, who cares if they're snuffed out like insignificant bugs on a windshield?

Felix wants to say he does, because hi hello he's fucking awesome and wants to live, but really? He wants to hurt Locus more, in this moment. Wants him to feel what Felix has been feeling for so long now, and he'll do whatever he needs to make that possible.

Locus doesn't hesitate to bite back, not that Felix had imagined he would. Maybe _before_ it would have been different, but now? There's that same animal need shining in his eyes, dark and cold and wild.

_Yes._

Felix doesn't even try to dodge the punch thrown his way, wants to feel the pain of it, the way dark flesh scrapes against his skin, pressing the soft inside of his cheek against sharp teeth. He grins, blood covering shiny white enamel.

"Fuck. You. Locus."

Each word pointed, because _he means them right now_ , more than anything.

And it's with that that Felix pushes himself into motion once more, feet quick and his body a sleek line that dashes at Locus, intent upon landing a few more punches before this is over with.

  


Locus hit him.

The fact creeps up the back of his neck, a cold disappointment at his own lack of control. Felix's game had worked, if a violent altercation had been the intended reward.

By the look in the other man's eye, it very well _could_ have been the intention.

Locus doesn't know who he is anymore, man or monster or machine, but at least now he knows he's someone who will bite back when pushed too far.

That's something, isn't it?

He doesn't have any time to dwell on the fleeting thought. Felix zips forward on light feet and lands another blow on his already bruising cheek before Locus can even fully process that they're apparently _getting into a fist fight_.

A rush of heat singes his spinal cord. Locus ducks the next swing. Doesn't step back like he would have, before. Doesn't try to dispel the wild feeling bubbling through his chest.

He smells blood, and he's _pissed_ , and he's a person too. What had he done to deserve this, after all? The silence. The cold shoulder. _He_ didn't pick the planet's shittiest ship to race into space. He didn't force Felix's hand.

Fist clenched, Locus throws a punch aimed at a vulnerable side. Doesn't pull it.

  


This wasn't exactly something Felix had intended to happen, right, but there's no way in hell he'd ever deny the fact that it feels _fucking amazing_.

Like a long hot shower after days in the cold, a deep stretch after running drills, something to scratch a deep, all encompassing itch in the back of his mind that's been stewing there for days and days, hell weeks, months, _years_ it feels like.

Blood floods his mouth, mixes with saliva that Felix would like to spit out onto the floor, but he knows he'd actually end up cleaning it up later so he swallows it down. Doesn't stop himself from putting every bit of focus into throwing his next punches.

Locus is still shocked enough when the second hits with some satisfying, toe curling slap, but gets his shit together enough to dodge the next. Not that Felix minds in the least, no this is a _good fight_ , something he's wanted for a long time. No armor, no helmets, hell they're barely even 'Felix and Locus' here, as stripped down bare as they are.

And maybe that's why he lets the punch hit, sees it coming from a mile away, but Felix can't react in time to dodge or even move to soften the blow.

Locus connects, fist to the sensitive barrel of Felix's ribs and the jab is enough to wind him. Punches the air from his lungs, though it escapes on an uncontrolled outburst of laughter. Felix never once loses his footing, however, adjusts his weight only slightly to favor his other side before going back in for more.

  


Laughter.

That's what he gets when his fist connects with flesh and bone. It's a satisfying feeling, raises fine hair on the back of his neck, but his movements had been telegraphed and he knows Felix had _wanted_ to get hit.

That means something, certainly. The bloody teeth grinning at him, the rush of amused air.

Felix looks _happy_ , like this is what he's wanted all along, and the startling realization is enough to distract Locus for the other man to land another strike.

Side has shifted. Felix favors left. Impact to stomach. Blunt. Heavy. Locus lumbers backward and settles his footing a respectable distance away. Eyes scan across the other man. Locus lowers his center of gravity. Right foot shifts to widen stance. Bruise forming on Felix's cheek. Right side weakened.

Eyes narrow, ravenous to see more blood.

"This isn't funny."

A dark rumble originating from his chest.

He waits for Felix to come to him.

_Wants_ Felix to come to him.

  


"Actually," Felix starts as they settle a few places from each other, both taking up fighting stances, Locus standing wide with a low center of balance, looking to Felix like he could calculate every next move by a twitch in his jaw, a blink of an eye.

Which may be true, if someone else was opposite Locus, but not with Felix.

"It's hilarious."

He finishes eventually, manic grin still firmly in place on his lips as Felix takes a moment to look over the man across from him.

Locus looks about as ravenous as Felix feels, not that many would be able to tell, but it's all laid out in plain sight for Felix. The narrowed eyes, dangerous rumble of tone, the way Locus hadn't pulled that punch in the least.

No, he's an animal, just like the rest of 'em.

Digging his heels into the carpet beneath him, Felix takes off once more, favors the building bruise on his side for all of one moment before he fakes in the opposite direction. It leaves his already wounded side vulnerable, but that's the play here. No sane person would risk a broken rib just to get another jab in.

But Felix wasn't, by any recollection, a sane person.

It will hopefully give him the space and time needed to get his own low blow in, right to the bruising along Locus' side that Felix knows hasn't fully healed yet.

  


_It's hilarious._

That's all he gets as explanation, and it's almost enough to make Locus further narrow his eyes, but they'd probably seal shut at that point, and taking his gaze off Felix for even one moment is not an option.

The man is smaller than him, yes, but Locus has fought with him for enough years to understand how tactical his brawls really are. As partners, it's refreshing. To have someone at his side that he can depend on, at least in skill alone. Trusting Felix to have his back in a fight ... well, that's a more complicated thought process.

A long time ago, yes, it would have been an easy answer. But more recently, with this divide between them, Locus wouldn't have been able to come to a positive conclusion. 

_Except_ , his brain reminds him, loudly, _he sheltered you from that toppling tower, and did it without thought._

His own mind distracts him from the present.

Felix is on the move, quick as lightning, and Locus barely has enough time to glimpse which side the punch will come from, let alone decipher the fake out that it actually is.

Felix bares his hit side, and the opening is far too good of an opportunity for Locus to miss. He throws his own fist towards what must be, by now, an aching bone, but the other man is quicker.

Lands a heavy blow right against Locus' still recovering ribs, and all air gets knocked from him. He cries out, sharp and pained, fingers gripping high up on Felix's arm to drag him close while Locus goes toppling to the ground.

He wrangles them around until Felix is pinned beneath him.

Locus stares at him, wild-eyed, panting, an improbable pressure in his chest screaming at him to rip, tear, claw, bite.

"What the _fuck_."

Felix had hit him in his most vulnerable spot. It's low, almost enough to waylay him, and it takes no thought for Locus to grab the other man by the hair and _pull_.

"That. _Hurt_."

Hips surround his partner's thighs, and Locus sucks in sharp breaths above him, baring his teeth in a snarl.

  


It makes some sort of logical sense, the way Locus manages to grab hold of Felix as a harsh blow is dealt to the guys aching ribs, but he sure as shit isn't expecting it.

He's grabbed at the last second as they both go toppling to the ground, Felix doesn't go without a fight though Locus' stature (and skill at grappling, let's be honest here) means Felix inevitably ends up with his back on the ground and a _very angry Locus_ atop him.

He'd laugh some more but he's a little out of breath from the scuffle, and the weight of the larger man pressing him down. Felix can't keep the shark sharp grin from his lips, however, even as Locus speaks, grabs Felix by the hair and pulls.

A power move for sure, but Felix isn't certain the reaction he usually gives for that act in particular is very appropriate here.

"It was meant to, asshole."

And as much as Felix doesn't know this man anymore, he doesn't feel _unsafe_ in this position, not like he would with anyone else. 

If Locus was going to kill him, he'd have done it already, that's for damn sure.

So Felix lays, panting and spread out, head back, vulnerable throat put on display along with the rest of his body as Locus holds him open. And yet Felix still feels like he has all the power here, feels it shine defiantly in his eyes as he gazes up into stormy grey.

  


The worst part about all of this is that Locus has lost his grip on how to _read_ Felix. The evidence of this plasters itself all over their fight. The slighter many is tricky, to be certain, and thinks quickly, has always kept Locus on his toes in any sparring match. But there have been several thrown punches that Locus simply _did not expect_.

He growls. Frustration bubbles up in his chest and expands outward to the fingers dug harshly into long strands of soft hair.

He forcefully drags Felix's head upward and slams it into the carpeted ground, once.

"Why do you hate me for something _you_ did?"

He can't contain it anymore.

The words spill out. There's blood in his mouth. Fire in his eyes. Felix pinned below him, and the other man looks like he's just won an award.

  


Hands in his hair are usually something that really do it for Felix, y'know someone's fingers carding through soft strands, nails digging into his scalp for some deep, pleasant scratch.

This was decidedly _not that_.

Locus grips him hard enough to pull blonde hair from scalp, certainly does so when he growls, picks Felix's head up from the ground only to slam it back down, hard. Without the customary helmet to block the brunt on the blow, Felix is left with slightly blurred vision as he groans out in pain. Unexpected, but not enough to put him out of commission.

"I didn't do shit, because there's a trope of Sim Troopers out there with all their heads attached."

He'd spit the words with a little more vitriol but he's winded and petulance is his go to so that's what he uses instead.

  


Felix doesn't seem to grasp what he's done, how hollowed out Locus feels. Or maybe he does, and that's the point. To make him wither from the inside. To break him down piece by piece until there's nothing left.

Maybe all they've ever been is acid thrown in each other's faces.

Locus grinds his molars together, jaw clenching with the effort to not bite. He's heavily tempted to slam Felix's head against the ground again, give the man a concussion, but that would shut him up and that's kind of the opposite of what Locus wants right now.

So he just tightens his grip. Dips low enough to grumble menacingly in Felix's face.

"That was your choice, not mine."

  


Pain is welcome here, the way Locus grips his hair tight, the ache in his ribs and face where the larger man got off a few good blows. Felix covets the feeling in this moment, anything but the choking rage, the boiling discomfort of monotony and lack of purpose, it's a blessing, really. If you believe in that kinda thing.

He can't tell if he does or not, but Felix does know that if there's any greater power in the universe they can go fuck themselves.

_Kiss my ass_ , he wants to scream in the face of anything there to hear him.

He grits his teeth instead. Stares up into the face of a man he once knew and feared and coveted just the same as he does the pain being given to him now.

"You wanted to leave."

This Locus isn't that man, but sometimes Felix wishes he could be.

  


_Oh._

The miniscule thought rings so loudly in Locus' head it almost makes the word feel bigger. Strange, how something so throwaway could vibrate through his body in a visible shudder.

That's right. He had wanted to leave. Had spent what he assumed would be his final breaths on tired words, exhausted with himself, with Felix, with the entire situation.

Somehow, miraculously, _Felix had listened._

Locus sits upright. Still straddling the other man's waist. Hands retract, though, and lay limp and open at his sides. He stares down, blinking eyes a hint wider than normal. Surprised.

"I did," he says, all fight drained from him. The ache in his ribs throbs mightily, reminding him of bones he would rather forget are even there.

A hand goes to Felix's chest. Splays itself and holds with enough force to keep him down. Locus can't think on the compromising position he's put them in. He's too distracted feeling for a heartbeat.

It thumps against the palm of his hand.

  


After the words are spoken between them it feels as if the whole universe stops moving. There's nothing but the way Locus shudders atop of him, the way stormy eyes widen, blink down in such a surprised stare it's almost as if Locus hasn't ever even _felt_ such a thing before.

Felix watches, wary, confused and well _confused_ as the larger man sits up against him, practically in Felix's lap. He's still staring as he speaks, voice a low, tired thing, and a hand comes up to rest for balance against Felix's chest.

The position is far more intimate than anything Felix has experienced in quite some time. His body doesn't react but it's an interesting sensation.

They've just had a fist fight, an actual all out brawl, showing just how evenly matched they are against one another and yet? Felix doesn't feel afraid of Locus, not like this, even if they're both different men that bone deep realization is there. But at the same time?

It feels good, in a way, to have this stranger on top of him, like a weighted blanket of dark muscle (clearly seen through the _miniscule shirt_ he's wearing) and heat. Felix realizes this looking up into those softened eyes, as his gaze slides over cropped hair and sharp features.

Uncool.

"What're you ...?"

He trails off in his question, still feeling all too wary.

  


What ends up pulling Locus from the incomprehensible place his mind has sunk to, is a soft thought that sticks to his brain.

Felix doesn't struggle.

He lies beneath him, blood on his lip, hair ruffled from where Locus had grabbed it and pulled, slammed his head into the ground (a low blow in reply to the punch to his _already bruised ribs_ ), but doesn't wiggle or kick or bite.

Just looks to Locus like …

Like he's something new.

Blinking, Loc clears his throat. Retracts his hand quickly and shuffles off the other man with as much grace as his aching body can muster. He's on his feet in a flash.

Why had he broken down so much? Why had he participated in an actual fist fight? Why does Felix always find a way to make him lose _control?_

His face is heated when he turns.

"I'm ... going to work on the navigation system."

Spoken to the doorway as he passes through it.

Felix's half-question trails behind him like a ghost.

What _was_ he doing?


	5. Scene V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You know I'd take a bullet from you."  
> — Do The Runaround, ABSRDST

It is surprisingly easy, after everything, for Locus to delve the entirety of his attention into repairing the nav system. Where before a subconscious hesitation had stilled his hands (fixing this problem would only make way for the larger, more complicated one), now he finds need to bury himself in anything unrelated to the other passenger aboard this ship.

It takes three days. Long ones. A grueling mental and physical effort to rewire, weld, and reconstruct the inner mechanisms of a machine he'd had to teach himself to understand.

There remains no room in these efforts to think about his recent tousle. To think about Felix's bloody grin, body pinned beneath him, and how he'd relaxed easily into the hold, had said _you wanted to leave_ as if that could in any way provide more answers than questions.

It had not.

As soon as _The Attie_ gives a greenlight for its navigational system and begins a scan of the surrounding area to calibrate their current location, Locus deflates against the cockpit floor and rubs knuckles over the sweat on his brow, wiping it away. Two minutes of exhausted stasis fill his mind with a pleasant emptiness.

Immediately after, he's flooded with thoughts of what to do next. Not about the slipspace engine, but about _Felix_. The day after their fight, his partner had strode into the cockpit while Locus was on his hands and knees, head buried in jumbled wires. No part of Locus had acknowledged the man's presence, though he still felt it like a whisper of hot breath against the back of his neck.

Felix hadn't said anything. He hadn't needed to say anything.

_Felix had sought him out._

This thought grips as Locus settles into the floor, lying flush on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Both hands fold gently over his stomach. He stares. Unblinking. The whir of machinery hums in the room.

Something had changed that day. He's just not really sure what.

Regardless, it's what Locus had been meandering towards this past month. To be acknowledged. _Seen_. And with Felix now seemingly willing to notice his presence, Locus really doesn't know what to do with that.

But he knows he doesn't want to lose it.

The nav monitor beeps. Locus rises from the floor and does a quick check for their coordinates. Makes a mental note.

Decides he works best with a plan, some purpose to move him, so he comes up with another.

—

Knocking on Felix's door should be a simple task. Fingers curled loosely into a fist. Arm raised. It would take nothing to rap twice, maybe three times, on cold metal.

And yet, Locus hesitates.

He lowers his hand. Adjusts his shirt, black tee, tugging on the hem where it rides up to reveal dark skin just above his waist. His pants are a bit too tight as well, but he's growing accustomed to it.

Beyond this door is a man so familiar Locus could draw his features from memory. High cheekbones. Chocolate eyes. Long lashes. A tapering jaw and a fine chin. The hair has gotten a bit longer, a bit messier, over the last month, but the general shape remains the same. 

Beyond this door is a man so unfamiliar Locus could power a small ship from the anxious vibration of his bones.

His hand is trembling.

Ridiculous.

With a deep breath, he raises his fist again and knocks on the door. Doesn't think to take a step back, create a respectable amount of space. He's too busy trying to pick apart the request flying through his head.

Locus is no longer a soldier or a machine. Might not be much of a man. But that doesn't mean he can't learn who he is.

And _who he is_ is someone who would like to have dinner. With company.

  


It's not like Felix has ever been a stickler for time, really. Before the army, it was hard for him to be on time or anything, couldn't remember dates for shit, that kinda thing. Then as soon as he'd enrolled, a schedule was forced upon him, and it was stick to it or reap the consequences. It wasn't long before he whipped himself into shape, but he isn't fool enough not to realize why.

It gave him purpose, and really that's all _Isaac_ had ever wanted. Something meaningful that he wouldn't fuck up the moment someone turned their back. And he was good at it.

Really fucking good.

Some would say one of the best. One of two, more specifically, and Isaac had fed on that. Built it up until that is what he was. _The fucking best._

Now look at him.

Felix laughs to himself, sprawled out on his shitty little cot as they float out into the endless vast nothingness of space.

_Now look at him._

It's hilarious, really, how the mighty have fallen, and as funny as it is? Felix can't help but still feel some of that rage lingering just at the back of his mind. It's all pretty fucked up, because he's never been one for keeping time, but now that's all he has. To think over what's happened, what's happening now, how much everything went pear-shaped and how it's never going to get any better.

Because he's stuck, right, but not only that. He's stuck with _Locus_ , only the man isn't his (and that's a really weird thing to think in and of itself, because _his_ is a heavy call to make, but Felix can't believe it to be any other way). Even after their fight, Locus has been really strange and withdrawn, which wouldn't have been a problem if he felt anything like he had all those years ago. No, the guy is a veritable stranger, but also _a fucking weirdo_.

Refuses to talk, even after actually punching Felix in the face for doing the same thing. Double-standard much?

And now it matters, because Felix is over that, and now he's unbearably bored and alone and that's pretty much a recipe for disaster, if he does say so himself. Locus will feel the same way soon enough, when Felix breaks down and starts writing messages in blood on the walls or some other crazy shit. Doesn't take a lot to unscrew what bolts he has left, really.

Another little giggle escapes him as he thinks himself in circles. God, he really is a fucking idiot, huh?

It's cut short, however, by a knock at his door.

Felix sits upright, stock still, staring at the entrance to his room with a look of abject confusion. It was Locus, of course it was, he was the only one within _literal lightyears_ , but that doesn't mean it makes any more sense than someone else being there.

Clearing his throat, there's no real other option here but to get up and answer the call, so that's exactly what Felix does. Marches right over to the door and flings it open with no hesitation. Expects Locus, yes, but doesn't quite expect him to be there so close. He blinks at the short space between them for half a second, less than an arms length away, before slowly allowing his gaze to climb up the man in front of him.

Locus looks so incredibly different, it's still a little startling, even after being stranded here with him for what? Twenty-five days? Yeah, it's a little difficult to get used to it, while reconciling that _this is Locus._

The slow trail of Felix's gaze finally lands (finally, he thinks, as if it hasn't actually been a split second since he's opened the door) upon Locus's gaze. Something else that hasn't changed, that storm cloud grey, though the expressions there are a little harder to read, if he's honest with himself. Kinda like now, actually, because what was Locus doing here, exactly?

"Sup?"

Eloquent. Felix chides himself, but doesn't back down, just manages to slink his body against the door frame, cross his arms languidly over his chest. Anything to make sure Locus doesn't see anything much in him, how confused he is with this whole ... everything.

  


_Sup._

The door slides open and Felix reveals himself, no movement to take a step back. Spends barely a second settling his gaze on Locus ( _settling_ it, looking at him from bottom to top, _not ignoring him_ ) and falls into a relaxed stance that is the epitome of how Locus _does not feel._

Pulse picks up.

A flush crawls down his spine.

Throat dry.

Locus realizes he won't be able to push out the words he's already formulated in his head. Not for a moment, at least. Not until he can build up enough saliva to swallow in an attempt to soothe a suddenly scratchy esophagus.

These reactions accumulate into a single, minute tell. His tongue dips out to wet his lower lip. Slides back into his mouth immediately after.

This is a man whose body and features are familiar. And because of this, Locus finds his thoughts are filled with loud noises and simmering doubts. Because the Felix he knows, or at least the one he knew on Chorus, would most likely consider any display of humanity as a glaring weakness. Locus' appeal as a partner derives from his ability to _get the job done._

And for the jobs they tended to take, that meant a decided lack of humanity.

Now, there are no missions, no rules, nothing to plant his feet firmly on the ground and point him in the direction of a final objective.

There is only Locus and Felix, and Locus isn't sure he recognizes either of them. He clears his throat. Swallows, to wet it.

"I made dinner."

Grey eyes trail over the span of crossed arms, the lean muscle beneath, before settling on Felix's face.

_And I have news. And you're looking at me now. Why are you looking at me now?_

His lips remain firmly closed.

  


There's no real certain way of knowing why, at this point, but there's no real way Felix can keep his observations skin-deep. There's so much to read in the way Locus moves, or doesn't, speaks, or doesn't. Felix looks at every action and reaction to categorize what is happening in the moment.

Just to see if he can read into this man in front of him, not _his_ , no, but the only other person he has. If he can understand Locus now, maybe he can make their time here as painless as possible.

It isn't like he wants to walk on tiptoe for the next ... how long did they have again? Three years, that's what he's calculated from the food supply (or maybe Locus told him? he can't remember now). But it also isn't like he and Locus have ever been more than partners. Sure, they knew each other inside and out at one point, every movement, moment, had an easy justification. Still. Felix doesn't want to live with a stranger.

Perhaps there's some humanity in him left, or he's just a selfish prick who can't stand not being the center of attention, even if that attention is just from this machine.

Though that term is used lightly now, as Felix watches Locus with a discerning eye. Sees the way he looks ... nervous? There's the way a slick tongue slips out to wet dry lips, the hesitation, a cleared throat before it bobs with a heavy swallow. All signs point in that direction as Locus finally speaks.

Three words, more than he's gotten in the few days since their little fist fight, but hell, Felix'll take it. Even if he does raise a brow, haughty, and cocks his head to the side.

"Congratulations, you're a big kid now."

Well, even if he wants to keep some sort of rapport with this man, it isn't like Felix can just give it up for free. Locus hasn't spoken to him in three days, after all, and while that was all well and good for Felix to do, he's done with the silent treatment and Locus would do well to know that much.

  


Noticing things was never something drilled into him. Locus enrolled in the UNSC with that particular skill already in his back pocket. The ability to observe, process, and come to a conclusion. These traits weren't trained, but rather, were pieces of himself that allowed him to rise so quickly within a structured military setting.

It's how he met Felix. _Isaac_ , back then. Recruits with potential had been corralled into a single platoon under the instruction of a particularly strict CO.

Even then, Locus had noticed how Felix could manipulate that man with words alone. It was there that he'd gotten an idea of what (who would end up being) his partner was capable of. He'd seen the struggle of it, too. How verbal manipulation wasn't an easy task. How Felix could suffer the _now_ to get what he wanted in the _later_.

Admirable, in a way.

Locus blinks, soaking in the reply given to him. The raised eyebrow. Tipped head.

Sometimes, Felix gestures consciously as if he has nonverbal communication metered down to an exact science. The wave of a hand there. A warm smile here. He'll match the lilt of his tone with the angle of a hip, and every motion has _purpose_ , like the steps to a dance.

Sometimes, however, Felix doesn't seem to move in a conscious way, and these moments Locus has long identified as 'real.' The man before him reacts viscerally with no forethought, and in a way that's comforting, but in another it's daunting.

Locus cannot observe, process, and come to a conclusion on something that is not _planned_. If there is no direction for an end result, it's impossible to predict what it will be. He can imagine outcomes, of course, and that is exhilarating in its own right, but the factors still remain unknown, and he's already figured out that he can retain a total of fifteen possible outcomes before the information gets foggy around the edges.

Felix's slight reaction here points to twenty, possibly twenty-three outcomes, at least.

He takes a deep breath and a pointed step back. Allows for some space between them.

"I ... made dinner for both of us."

Though he would like to cut his eyes to the side to keep any uncontrollable reactions from showing in his gaze, he assumes the very act of breaking eye contact itself would be more telling than anything else.

So focused on this, he doesn't notice the nervous way he rocks slightly on the balls of his feet.

"I would like you to join me. I have news."

  


Another olive branch, it seems, and while it wasn't really expected, it wasn't _unexpected_ all the same.

Maybe they're on the same page, after all.

Once again, they're all each other has, this time very literally. Maybe Locus is beginning to see that as well, sees that this is what they've got now, until death do them part and wow that sounded way more weird than he'd wanted it to. Even in his head, Felix realizes it's a strange place full of strange thoughts.

He manages to shake himself of it though, rather quickly, to focus back on Locus. He's more expressive than Felix remembers, actually. What with the way he steps back, realizing they're way too close, and the way he wobbles back and forth on the balls of his feet. Something telling, certainly. 

Is it that same nervousness Felix had sensed? Something else? Fuck, this was the hard part. Locus, this one, was giving out tells left and right, but _what did they mean?_ Hard to tell, really, but even harder when Felix can't really look at the guy without seeing someone else.

How long does it take for hair to grow out, sheesh.

"Going from fist fighting to a dinner date? You move fast, Loc."

The curl of his lips shows teeth, certainly, but it's more amiable than not as Felix pushes himself off from where he'd been leaning against the wall. Stands up straight, arms at his side after adjusting the deep navy tee across his body. It's a little big and falls unevenly thanks to his triangular build, gets caught up around his armpits when he crosses his arms. Annoying.

  


This is where things get complicated.

Locus understands Felix's demeanour to a degree. He's spent years in the other man's presence. Witness to every dark act, evil deed.

He's also seen other parts of Felix. The human bits, the ones with meaning, that only ever seem to show when it's them, together, alone. An act of familiarity, certainly.

No, understanding Felix isn't all that difficult. It's understanding himself, these new parts of him, and how Felix will react and interact with them, that creates complications.

The other man steps away from the wall as if his body says _sure, let's go_ , but he gives no verbal affirmation, other than a tease about moving too fast.

Locus isn't naive. He knows the meaning behind those words, and such things have been directed at him time and time again. Only this time, he doesn't feel so steeled against it. A machine isn't capable of such emotions, after all. But he's not sure _what he is now._

With a new way to look at the world, Locus allows his gaze to sweep down Felix's body. From narrow shoulders, dissecting each wrinkle in his loose fitting tee, down to bare feet and back up again.

Crosses an arm over his chest so he can curl unsure fingers over his elbow.

_No, certainly not._

The thought rings loud in his head.

"It isn't a date."

He turns to walk them towards the kitchen, glancing back to see if Felix follows.

  


This Locus isn't his Locus, it isn't like the reminders aren't there shoving themselves in Felix's face, but at times it's interesting to think about. Here, certainly, is one of those times.

Felix has all but accepted, Locus has to understand that, also has to understand that the little quip he'd thrown out was just that. Something to fill the void between them, a snarky remark that wasn't _actually meant_ , no matter that it had come flapping from Felix's lips.

And yet? The guy _looks_ at him. Not just one of those bland grey slides, where Locus sizes him up, but seems to grade Felix on a scale before reacting. Which is weird in and of itself, because _hello, joking_ , but also weird because Felix is apparently left wanting. Or, well, it feels like it, in some strange way that's probably for the best to lay to rest.

Even if, for one moment, Locus looks oddly vulnerable with that arm wrapped around his chest. Like he's trying to protect himself from something.

Why is this fucker so hard to read?

Exasperated, Felix follows down the hall, meeting that dark gaze over Locus's shoulder on accident as he moves. Raises a brow like both hadn't been furrowed in something like confusion as he'd started walking.

"Mhm, right."

Sounds disbelieving, just to see what other reaction he can get. Will this Locus ignore him? Refute the idea of a date again? How can Felix poke to get what he wants from this person?

Actually, shit. What does he want to begin with?

Being a human is confusing, sure as hell, but that's all he is now, isn't it? Just a guy stranded in space with another dude, waiting to run out of food, or for the oxygen scrubbers to crap out. Either way, they're dying here, not Felix and Locus: Bounty Hunters/Mercs Extraordinaire -- just people.

  


As if in doubt of Locus' statement, the other man fills the air between them again. There is no easy response to it, so Locus chooses to not say anything at all, merely catches the slightest moment of drawn brows before Felix's expression evens out again.

What would he even say to begin with? _Yes, right_. Or a stern affirmation, _this is not a date._

All needless pieces of conversation, surely. But is there really any _need_ to begin with? Their situation is dire. Even barring that, if they were two people on their way to a bar for a drink and a meal, _there would be no inherent need for a conversation_. No mission to discuss. No details to go over.

Locus is wildly out of his element here.

The thought crosses his mind when he steps through an open entranceway into the dining area. The galley kitchen, narrow and open, sits to his right, with the dishwasher already humming its use, utensils he'd deemed necessary for preparing dinner already in the process of being cleaned. Ahead, the dining table, small and first found with three chairs cramped around its metal surface. With only two of them there, Locus had already relocated the third chair closer to the viewing window, which stretches out in a wide semicircle for an unobstructed look at painted stars and shades of purple and rust gas.

_You move fast, Loc._

This is not a date.

Just barely containing the sour grumble in his chest, Locus strides over to the table and settles down in his seat, taking the left. There are two bowls set out, along with napkins and silverware. Chunks of chicken in a red curry, with white rice, peppers, carrots, and diced up peanuts. He can smell the garlic. The sharp scent of lime.

He recalls the way each ingredient would fill up his mother's kitchen. The first time she'd made it, years before his enrollment in the UNSC, how she'd giggled and gotten the portions for the spices wrong, but how adventurous she always was when it came to new cuisine.

How failure never daunted her.

"Here," he says, making no move to wave at the additional bowl across from him.

"It's Thai."

  


Journey to the kitchen, as expected, holds little excitement.

After Felix's second little quip there's silence between them. This, however, isn't as off putting as the rancid silence that had pervaded the entirety of the ship for the last month. They weren't speaking, but that didn't mean Felix didn't have anything to say just to rile Locus up, and it didn't mean he was being given a treatment from the other guy in turn.

They just had nothing to say.

There's no small talk between them, hadn't really ever been. It was mission or task or assassination -- y'know, the norm. Now that that normality has been reduced to floating in space, what was there other than silence, really? Felix has his game, Locus has fixing the Navigation and y'know, whatever else he gets up to.

Boring.

What isn't boring, however, is the new little tidbit of information that Felix finds suddenly shoved in his face as soon as he walks through the kitchen's doors. The bright smell of curry, chicken, rice, lime, peanuts assaults his senses and his mouth is immediately watering.

Locus can cook.

Felix stands in the doorway for a moment to process that information.

How hadn't he known that before? It's not like they shared hobbies with each other, or even spent time that didn't involve some sort of mission, but this seems like something Felix definitely could've been taking advantage of. He's left blinking at the set table, two bowls, napkins, utensils. The dishwasher is running in the background, some low humming white noise that seems to complete the little domestic scene in front of him.

Not something he's seen in ... ever? Yeah. This uh, isn't a date. Locus said he needed to tell Felix something, so what, it's like an upscale debrief? Seems like something the guy would do.

Felix swallows the build up of saliva in his mouth, throat bobbing in excitement as he strides forward to take his place across from Locus.

"Smells like it, yeah."

Doesn't know what else to say, which is a first, as he sits calmly. Doesn't know if there's some sort of procedure here, so he waits.

  


If Locus were to say the other man's little pause at the entranceway didn't affect him, he'd be lying.

Over the last month, they've taken their meals separately. Not entirely uncommon, but Felix had found a way to turn something relatively normal into a weapon. In the past, it isn't as if they'd ever sought out each other's company to specifically have a meal together. But they hadn't _avoided_ doing such, either.

In twenty-five days, Locus has been rifling through large crates loaded up in the store room. The amount of ingredients are vast, with a wide array of produce and canned goods to last them a handful of years. He's been cataloguing, rearranging, and properly storing any perishables. The freezers (three of them, one in the kitchen and the other two in the cargo hold) are completely stocked up with fruits and vegetables. He's made use of what couldn't fit.

Not that Felix would know about any of this. The man has been locked away in his own little world, without structure, and maybe Felix is better suited for such things but Locus had known from the start that such idleness (without a single voice to keep him from his thoughts) would drive him mad.

He picks up a spoon as soon as Felix sits. Begins eating without preamble, though he does spare a single raised brow in his partner's direction, curious why he would exhibit patience when presented with a free meal.

It's _satisfying_ , though. Locus has never cooked for them before. And he knows he's good at it. Has the kind of mind that clings easily to each minute detail of a recipe. Has memorized quite a few meals.

To show this part of himself—to understand that _this is a part of who he is_ —is ... exciting.

A little nerve-wracking.

He chews, swallows, before clearing his throat.

"The navigation system is repaired. I know where we are."

  


Sitting there at the kitchen table, Felix is transported back to his childhood for a blip of time. He's never sat at a table with just one more person, something intimate about sharing a meal created just for them (in his weird kinda logic), but he's been at a kitchen table before. Surrounded by siblings as his parents and everyone fought for the good parts.

He didn't grow up obscenely poor, but with four siblings it was always a fight for what you want. The best piece of buttered bread, the first helping of meat, that sorta thing.

This doesn't feel like that at all. His meal is already portioned out, just as much as Locus had given himself, the bowls were the same size. Doesn't mean it doesn't still feel _weird_.

Not exactly easy to push aside, even as Locus grabs his own spoon, but Felix manages just fine with a lack of expression on his face. God the food does smell heavenly though, and if it smells this good, it's bound to taste even better. Felix has to swallow again. When's the last time he had a home cooked meal?

He's an idiot to be thinking about these things, shakes himself internally as he grabs his own utensil. Places it gently into the food in front of him, like he's a little loath to break the spell it's set him in. Slowly he brings a bite to his lips, finds it hot but with just the right amount of spice. The chicken is cooked perfectly, tender and juicy, the vegetables still with a nice crunch to them.

_Fuck_.

Felix doesn't even hear the words spoken to him for a moment, is so caught up in the food. He's never been one to cook, himself, doesn't have the patience or the eye for it, but fuck all if he doesn't know good food when it's in front of him. And this? Is kinda perfect, the best curry he's had in ... ever? Yeah, ever.

The news of the fixed navigation does eventually slick its way into his ears, however, and Felix is left holding another bite halfway to his lips.

"Really?"

He stuffs down the excitement that threatens to bubble up. It doesn't mean anything, in the big scheme of things, right? Just because they know where they are doesn't mean they can move from this spot. They won't be able to get the slipstream back up and running, not with their piddly knowledge.

Does the S.O.S. call out even work this far out, anyway? So they can't call for help either, not that it would be a good thing to be found, infamous Mercenaries and all. Even if no one's seen their faces in years, it still wouldn't be in their best interest to put themselves, even unknowingly as it would be, into the wrong hands.

  


It's a monumental effort to not stare when Felix takes his first bite. Locus allows a flicker of attention when it happens, but diverts his gaze back to his own bowl immediately after. Takes a few more bites waiting for a response, and clearly reads far too deeply into that _lack of a response_ , because logically it would mean Felix didn't hear him, or wasn't paying enough attention, and, _following that line of reasoning_ , that would mean something else had deterred his focus from rather important news.

Locus' food is more distracting than knowing the navigation system is fixed.

There is no semblance of fact in this statement. He can't know for sure. But it's a pleasant outcome to dwell on, one that picks the beat of his heart up and flings it against the inner wall of his chest.

"Yes," he affirms, after swallowing his food. Perhaps one of the most important, if subconscious, lessons he'd learned growing up—don't speak with your mouth full.

"We are still in the Milky Way galaxy. The southern edge. Approximately three-hundred and seventy light-years away from the nearest colonized planet. Zoul. It's ... tropical."

A pause while he takes another bite. He's eaten sparingly the last few days. Partially because he's been distracted, delving head-first into fixing a problem. Mostly, though, because he's already planned out an eating schedule for himself. If he fasts seven days out of the month, it will prolong their overall survivability without much hassle.

There is trouble with knowing their distance. 370. _The Attie_ can travel at light speed, as is common for all space-faring vessels. But at light speed, it would still take them _370 years_ to reach civilization.

This wouldn't be a problem with a functioning slipspace engine. They could bend space and come out the other end an easy twenty minutes from the planet Zoul.

If he can't repair the engine, they're still painfully helpless.

Slowly, Locus sets his spoon in the bowl. Picks a napkin off the table and wipes his mouth. He folds his hands over his waist and turns his full attention to the man across from him.

"I could send out a distress signal, but I wanted your opinion on the matter."

  


Spoon in hand is no longer held aloft as Locus continues to speak, no the food is too good to sit unconsumed, even if the news from the party across the table is quite important. Felix eats, slowly, much different from how he normally just shoves food in his face just because it's there and it keeps his strength up.

Taking the news is easier, actually, as Felix savors each bite of food. It's not like what Locus says is any different from what Felix had thought to begin with.

Three hundred and seventy lightyears. What a joke. Even if they started moving in that direction, what would that matter? Not like they have that long a lifespan to even begin with. Hell, Felix will be lucky to get another three years out of himself at this rate, going out of his mind with no one but _Locus_ for company.

But hell, at least he knows the guy can cook now, but how to persuade him to do it more often? That's the real question here, for Felix.

There's no way in hell they're going to fix the slipstream, and no way in hell they'll get rescued if they send out a signal.

The spice in the curry flushes his cheeks, always sensitive to it, though his nose isn't starting to run yet so that's a plus. No need to be seemingly sniffly while they ponder their inevitable doom. Not like it's anything to cry over anyway. They aren't good men, not worth tears or pity.

"Do what you want, I don't care."

He settles with a shrug, though he does take Locus's lead and wipe his mouth with the napkin in front of him. He wasn't raised by wolves, after all, no matter that he turned into one.

  


He hums with the go-ahead given. Allows himself a moment to look over Felix once more, his gaze decidedly less discerning than the ones he typically folds across his partner.

Locus observes. Sees the heat of the food manifest across Felix's cheeks. How he eats quietly, seemingly more concerned with the food than with what little information Locus has to give.

Satisfied, Locus turns his head to look out the viewing window. Plants an elbow on the table and rests his cheek against a closed fist.

It wouldn't be a bad place to die. The stars flicker, unmoving in a sea of gaseous material, everything a human body _is_ , simply deconstructed and dancing, slowly, in the void.

Still, there is not a single bone in Locus' body that will allow him the benefit of lying down to die. He'll send out a signal in every direction, as far as the ship's communication system will let him reach. He'll check it every day. That will be the morning routine. Wake up, shower in the shared bathroom (hours before Felix typically rises), brush his teeth and squeeze into ill-fitting clothes, then check for a return signal in the cockpit.

He'll die like that. Starved ribs showing, internal organs eating themselves.

Failure will not daunt him.

"Do you like the food?" he asks, head still turned, though grey eyes slide over toward his partner. His fingers unfurl along his face and tap against a dark cheek.

  


Well, that's that, apparently.

Locus gives a committal little hum at Felix's answer, something approving that Felix really couldn't give a shit about, even if it does feel like he's given the right answer after all.

What would Locus have done if Felix said it wasn't worth it? That they're never going to be rescued, they're going to die here, starving and alone and worthless -- would Locus break? He always did have to have something to keep him going, always about the mission, no matter what it was.

Does this give him purpose? And if so, does it make him feel more at ease with the thought of them dying up here?

Stupid things to think, but the food is good and for the first time since they left Chorus, Felix feels like his mind is clear. He's methodical, even in his chaos, thinks in strategy and motion. Now that there's nothing left to put that focus into, Felix finds his thoughts turning toward Locus with that same narrow-minded attention.

He hums to himself, digging back into the food as he surreptitiously watches the man across the table. He moves with ease now, not so staunchly nervous, or whatever he'd been just a few moments before. No, Locus leans an elbow against the table, pulling that ill-fitting shirt even tighter across his shoulders as he peers out the viewing window into the vastness of space.

The difference is almost palpable as Locus asks a question, eyes slanting over to peer at Felix even though Loc never really moves but to splay long fingers out over his own cheek.

Objectively, he's handsome, Felix has always known that, but he's always been _Locus_. Now he's just a man who cooked him dinner and is trying to remain hopeful that they'll get out of this alive. Felix sighs to himself.

"I'm appointing you head chef of the Attie, and I expect meals at least twice a day."

Grins, sharp, instead of anything else he could think to do. Covers up his own hopelessness with a showing of teeth, as always.

  


Eyes narrow with the command. The display of teeth. Gut instinct drives him to pick apart the answer given. Find the hidden motive. The obvious one being, of course, that Felix likes the food enough to demand Locus be their "chef" from now on.

A role he wouldn't be opposed to.

Another possibility: Felix giving him motive.

Neither option sounds bad, and once that information creeps in, Locus' eyes widen minutely in surprise. He cuts his gaze back out the window shortly after, mulling over the topic. The way Felix had grinned at him, all teeth.

The man has done that plenty of times before. Usually at the end of a tease. A quip. Some remark no doubt detailing just how _not human_ Locus has become.

This time, the sharkish grin doesn't mock.

Felix has nice teeth.

Locus has seen blood on those teeth, recently.

"That could be arranged."

He pauses. Drops his hand. Turns back to Felix with something like curiosity behind grey eyes.

"For a price."

  


_For a price._

What could that possibly even entail?

Felix's grin immediately drops to something more contemplative, and no, he wouldn't call it a pout, not in the least. Though his brows do furrow together slightly and the corners of his lips curl downward, lower lips poking out in some exaggerated motion. Oh well, though, that's what it comes down to. Nothing comes for free.

Locus had turned away though, eyes a little wide, before he'd turned back with something else hidden in that gaze entirely. 

Emotion from the other man isn't something Felix is new to, no he could spot any little thing in that stone cold gaze, just a few years ago. Or well, shit, it feels like just a few years sometimes. Feels like eons the rest of the time, but it's whatever.

What he's seeing now is intriguing.

"What do you want for it then?"

His own expression morphs into something like curiosity just the same.

  


He's seen that look before. In various arrangements and turned towards various people, but he's seen it. It's usually a conscious gesture. Something Felix uses to pull out an emotion in a target for manipulation.

Turned towards Locus, it seems to cross his features without thought. Lips pulled down, jutting out the slightest bit. Contemplative, a rote reaction to something unexpected.

Had Locus surprised him, asking for reciprocation? Payment, as it were.

Interesting.

"Train with me."

The words come out with no lead-up.

He can still feel the ache in his side where Felix had sucker-punched healing ribs. The swelling on his cheek has long gone down, but there's still a bruise to his pride that he could have been caught off guard so many times.

Usually they're more evenly matched. But Felix is a tactical genius. That fact is never far from Locus' mind.

The last thing he wants is for Felix's skill to surpass his own in such a way that Locus can't catch up.

"Five days a week. Eight A-M."

Is that curiosity in brown eyes? Felix seems attuned to him in a way that Locus isn't used to.

He doesn't find it unpleasant.

  


"Eight in the morning?"

Exasperated, annoyed. But not uninterested, that's for sure.

But fuck it all, that was so early and Felix has already gotten his sleep schedule down to something resembling what he wants. Which is sleep until at least ten a.m. because he _can_. Hasn't ever been able to get away from restraints in the army, and even with the mercenary thing he was always up early, on his toes.

Nothing is stopping him from doing what he wants now. Nothing except for Locus, apparently, and the promise of good food.

The pout is real, now, even he'd acknowledge it, because the fucker wasn't playing fair. Not like training isn't something Felix enjoys, anyway, but especially with Locus. The only other person he'd found in the vast expanse of the universe that could keep up with him.

Though maybe that's why Loc wanted to train in the first place. Felix remembers the dirty hook he'd thrown to the guy's ribs not just a few days ago. Yeah, it was a nasty little thing to do, but he'd been pissed off and Locus had really had it coming, if Felix does say so himself. No matter that it turned them around, maybe Locus was still thinking about it.

"You know I don't care to kick your ass, Loc, but _why so early?_ "

A genuine question. Kinda.

  


"A schedule is important."

Words fly from his mouth before he can think about them. As nervous as he'd been contemplating the _use_ of a conversation, Felix asks a simple question, and the answer comes simply from him.

It's the easiest back-and-forth he's ever known. And it's only ever happened with this man.

"I shower at nine. This allows time for the water to heat back up for your shower at ten, presumably when you wake up."

Not that he's been consciously keeping track. Numbers and patterns tend to stick to his brain. The last few days, Felix has commandeered the bathroom at around ten in the morning, so Locus has pushed his schedule back accordingly to accommodate shared use of their amenities.

He wakes up early, regardless. Doesn't sleep much.

"If we train for an hour, and shower afterwards, that means ... Eight A-M."

It's simple. Logical. Locus blinks once, his gaze not pushy or expectant. If Felix has a counter argument, he'll gladly listen.

  


It's not like he didn't know that Locus was keeping a watchful eye on things, that's just what the guy _does_ after all. Always with the patterns of lifeforms around him, he could probably calculate every time Felix had to take a piss if he really put his mind to it.

But knowing it's a thing and having it pointed out to him are two rather different things. So it's a little startling to have his own lack of schedule-schedule thrown back in his face. Just another reason to pout, but he refrains this time. Doesn't want to give out all his cards in the first hand, after all.

"So that means you get first shower? Nu uh, you know I hate waiting after I get all sweaty and shit. I call first shower."

Because that's really the only thing he can think to buck back with. Training with Locus used to be one of the highlights of his days, back when they were in the army together, and even when they transferred to being bounty hunters, mercenaries, they still kept up with their training. Only the best can beat the best, after all, and Felix wasn't too full of himself to believe that if he slacked off?

Well, that's unacceptable. Even if the universe loses sight of him, Felix rests well knowing that he's the only thing out there that could bring whole worlds to their knees with a few simple steps.

He won't let Locus forget that either.

  


"Alright."

It's an easy compromise. If it affords him the chance to keep his skills up (with the only other person in his known universe who could ever actually pose a challenge), then so be it.

"It's a deal."

Locus settles back in his chair, then. Releases a deep breath, allowing his shoulders to rest in an easier position than their usual tense pose. He picks away at his dinner for lack of anything else to say.

Though, staring at his food and taking measured bites does pique a question that, given the circumstances, is relevant.

"What do you like to eat?"

Spoken, again, after he swallows.

Furrowed brows pinch together when he glances back up, as if, somehow, if he looks at Felix in a certain way, the answer will reveal itself.

  


Wow, that was relatively painless. The compromise comes easy, almost too easy if Felix was one to suspect Locus of anything, but he's not, actually. There's nothing here that could be used against him, and the guy already knows that Felix likes to shower right after training anyway, so really, this is nothing.

Which says something about how he's been living if even something so simple as this could raise red flags. Though Felix isn't used to having even the slightest modicum of trust in another living being. Doesn't know what it feels like anymore, to have someone at his back who won't pull out a knife as soon as he's not paying attention.

Locus might not be that person anymore, but here? The worst thing the guy could do is jettison him out into space, and while that wouldn't be a fitting end for him, Felix can't say he hasn't thought about doing the same damn thing.

So no, it isn't trust, but a lack of ulterior motive that settles his suspicious inclinations.

Going back to his food is all the acceptance either of them need, apparently, so Felix follows suit and stuffs another delicious bite between his teeth. How is it still as good as the first bite? Another sigh escapes through his nose, this one pleased and only very slightly stuffy. Felix is sure his cheeks and throat are suitably red, even after the brief pause in spicy food consumption.

"Uh."

Oh well, there that goes. Felix is suddenly asked a question that he doesn't actually know how to answer.

He eats whatever he's given, or whatever fast food is closest to wherever he happens to live at the time. He doesn't go grocery shopping, doesn't cook. What's he supposed to say to that?

"Anything."

There, easy enough, said with a shrug as he focuses on the meal in front of him.

"I'm allergic to shellfish."

  


_Anything._

That is far from an acceptable answer—too broad, too many options and variables—but it comes honestly from the other man's mouth. The onus of decision settles heavily in Locus' gut. It's an inane thing to worry about, but he does. Wonders if he can decipher what Felix likes through observation.

The other man seems pleased with this meal, for instance, despite how red it's turned pale skin. Spicy, then, is clearly a good option to go with. Which is fine. Locus knows quite a few meals that would foot that particular bill.

It's the easy admission afterwards that stops Locus. His body stiffens. He freezes with a spoonful of food halfway to his mouth.

He hadn't known that Felix was allergic to anything at all. It had always been unnecessary information. The fact files itself away in a folder labeled _Isaac "Felix" Gates_ , but it's this very act that has Locus paralyzed. Because that folder? Rather empty, considering it has the name of the only person who means anything to him on it.

Which is an entirely different, yet equally daunting, line of thought. That Felix _means_ something to him.

Of course he does. They've been partners for years. That counts for something, though it strikes him now that he's never really considered what it counts towards.

_Who is Felix to him?_

Friend? Foe?

Both titles sound incorrect.

"There isn't any shellfish on this vessel."

His brain kicks back into gear about half a second after he starts speaking. The spoon lowers, rests in his bowl.

He's done here. Finished eating. Relevant information divulged. Unexpected deal made. There is no reason to stay.

Locus rises slowly from his seat. Grabs his dirty dishes. Hovers, unsure.

"I will see you tomorrow. At eight."

Long legs stride to the open galley kitchen where he deposits his dishes in the sink. He takes a private moment to grip the edge of the counter, tight, while confused thoughts circle through his head.

_Why does he know nothing about a man he's trusted with his life?_

When he steps out of the kitchen, he's composed. Runs a hand down his stomach to smooth out small wrinkles in his shirt. Tugs on the hem.

"Put your dishes in the sink when you're done."

Leaves.


	6. Scene VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You get everything you want,  
> And money always talks  
> To the idiot savants."  
> — [Choke](https://open.spotify.com/track/7DAUTcJYMybdyEC033uT9e?si=UvMd6gIJROW5tpdIhjWnBA), IDKHOW BUT THEY FOUND ME

Training, as it's turned out, is pretty much exactly what Felix had been in need of. His body aches in all those special tingly places that make him feel _alive_ , and even though it's only been a week, the whole atmosphere of the ship feels a little different. Like it's easier to breathe.

Whether that's from Felix being more chipper, or the fact that he and Locus can now speak a little more freely with each other? Well, who's to say, really. All he knows is that it's beginning to look a lot like Christmas around here, what with Fi's full stomach and pleasantly stretched muscles and also the fact that he's about halfway finished with this awesome (if he does say so himself) completionist run of this old video game he's got going on.

Not that Felix has ever been much for games in the past, but there's only so much he can do to keep his wildly inadequate attention span. The training is helping, as much as he didn't really want to believe it would -- mostly because it was Locus enforced at eight am every damn morning -- but he sees results so he isn't going to complain.

Much.

It's all part of his charm, however, and Locus is certainly coming around to that. For the only two guys in this stupid shuttle they've had a rough go of maintaining human contact, and it isn't that Felix needs it, only that he kinda well ... _needs it._

An hour of training a day and meals together have done wonders for his attitude. Helps that he can just yammer on like before and Locus has just about the same reactions. It isn't perfect, isn't even that forced kinda friendship they'd almost had back in the day, but hell it's better than withering away rocking back and forth talking to himself like some sort of crazy person.

That'll still probably happen anyway, actually.

But for now, he has video games and training and food, so hell what more could he want, right?

Actually, maybe the question is what could _Locus_ want, as the guy saunters into the rec room only to hover close. He stares for a long moment, just standing there like the stone statue he was born to be, doesn't speak, doesn't move once he's planted himself firmly against the ground.

Not that Felix minds as long as the guy isn't in the middle of his screen, but it's a little unnerving? What could he want that's got him all clammed up, really Fi thought they were past this -- for the most part, anyway.

"Uh, hi?"

He speaks, finally, never once taking his eyes of the screen in front of him. He's gotta look out for stupid quick time events anyway.

  


One week of sparring with his partner and already Locus feels all the more sane for it.

Well.

As much as that feeling can take hold, anyways.

Felix doesn't go easy on him. Never has. Locus remains superior in grapples, though getting the other man into such a position is incredibly difficult to begin with. He's had a mind to demand they focus on that part of their training, specifically, as Jiu Jitsu is tailored to lithe frames overpowering larger bodies. He's certain with a bit more direction, Felix could hone the skill.

As the days inch by, Locus falls into an easy schedule. Early morning, he makes a cup of coffee. Lets that settle in his stomach before training at eight. After, while he waits for his turn in the shower, he checks the communication system to see if anyone has heard their S.O.S.

So far, it's been nothing but silence.

The result of the pattern doesn't matter in this instance. It's the pattern itself that helps him retain some semblance of control on this whole situation.

Soon, Locus will turn his efforts to the slipspace engine.

For now, however, thoughts of Felix have inevitably consumed his mind.

The other man seems infinitely more amicable as of late. Chatting with _(at)_ Locus during mealtime. Hasn't complained about the food. Has kept his complaints about the training to a minimum.

Felix walks around the ship with a new vibrancy that Locus hasn't seen in the month leading up to it. His pale skin looks healthier. Though that could be the food.

Regardless, Locus has found within himself a peculiar urge to surround himself in this vibrancy. He's resisted trailing behind Felix like some lost dog seeking a meal. Though that doesn't mean he hasn't been drawn to common areas.

A friendly Felix is ... oddly pleasant to be around.

Even if Locus still has no idea how to navigate a regular conversation.

This fact becomes exceedingly apparent when he strolls into the rec room, having steeled himself for the repercussions of indulging a strange desire to have a bit of company. It's better than sitting idle in his room, counting backwards from one million in intervals of three.

He's unsure if he's welcome, or even how to begin asking such a thing, so ends up rooted to the spot when he strays closer, eyes drawn to the screen and the game Felix is playing on it. It would be perfectly acceptable to him if they both remained that way—Felix focused on his game while Locus hovers nearby, trying to make sense of it—but the other man breaks the silence after a moment that Locus doesn't quite process as awkward.

_Hi._

Locus the machine, the monster, would consider that white noise. It isn't information, so it has no use.

Locus, the man, releases a relieved breath now that the burden of breaking the quiet has been taken from him.

"Hello."

Something should follow. His brows scrunch together while he tries to come up with an appropriate way to plant himself in Felix's space as something more than a lamp posed in the corner.

Locus is really not very good at this.

  


It isn't as if Felix hadn't expected a response, but that's kinda how he'd imagined this going with the way Locus was hovering around. Like there was something he wanted, maybe? Something to ask or do in the area but he didn't want to anger Felix by interrupting him? There's really no way to tell what was going on in the guy's mind, but was it Felix's duty to wrangle that out?

Questions are all he has, as of late, around this guy. If they aren't sparring or eating, then it's kind of all in the wind, so to speak.

Not that Felix has taken to minding, which is startling in and of itself, but he's trying to just let it be. Pacifism isn't usually his M.O. but why couldn't it be here? Nothing to worry about except eating until they run out of food, so why not just chill out for a minute of his life?

Easier said than done, with Locus around, apparently.

Especially when the guy responds with a simple, if somewhat relieved sounding, _Hello_ , while still standing still as marble right beside the beanbags that surround the television.

Felix sighs, not fully knowing how to deal with this turn of events, but hell, he's in a good mood so he's willing to try.

"Ya gonna sit down, or just stand there like a moron?"

Well, he may be in a chill mood, but that's never stopped Felix from being _Felix_.

  


Relieved is an appropriate way to put it, though his pulse picks up with the suggestion and for all of ten seconds Locus really has no idea how to understand the offer given to him. It's taken out of his (clumsy, unfamiliar) hands.

He nods. Realizes quickly that Felix isn't looking at him, absorbed in whatever is happening on the screen, so Locus decides to settle down as suggested.

It's then he realizes his body, his demeanor, his very soul was not built for a beanbag chair.

It sinks below him, conforming to his body, and it isn't uncomfortable but painfully sloppy. No back support. Very little substance to keep him in a position that allows for proper posture. Locus struggles with this new information for a moment, eyes slit towards the beanbag like it had personally affronted him—and things that affront him don't tend to survive long enough to learn _not to do that_.

In no world is it acceptable to murder a chair, however. That would be asinine.

Air dispels from his nose in a huff, and Locus succumbs to the cloying comfort trying its best to get him to relax.

It succeeds, but only because Felix has extended the offer, and Locus had been unable to refuse. Had sought the man out specifically for his company, after all, so it wouldn't make much sense to extricate himself simply because this particular chair only allows him to sink lazily into it with atrocious posture, legs spread, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"What are you playing?"

The struggle with the chair distracts from his own tongue-tied inability to be a human person. The words come without thought.

  


About three seconds after his offer, Felix realizes how undoubtedly hilarious his world is about to become.

The only chairs here are beanbag chairs, little round bauble type things that really are more suited to men of Felix's stature than Locus's, but also they're meant for people who know how to have fun. How to relax and chill out, and none of those things have ever been used to describe Locus.

Probably even as a child the kid was stuck up, prim and proper.

A laugh is already building in Felix's chest, he can't help but sneak a look out of the corner of his eye (quick time events be damned) just in time to catch the inner struggle playing out in Locus's body language. The man tips down into the chair and it's immediately apparent that they're about to be short one beanbag in a moment.

He grins, can't help it, amusement clogging up his arteries like plaque until there's nowhere else it can go but display itself on his face.

Samuel 'Locus' Ortez. In a beanbag chair.

This is the greatest moment of Felix's life.

Shit though has the guy's legs always been that long? He looks like an upside down giraffe with two necks.

"Uncharted something something?"

Felix realizes he's turned all his attention toward Locus in that moment. Blinks to himself before turning back to his game, nearly missing some important button mashing.

"I dunno, ya shoot people and save artifacts or whatever."

  


The one saving grace in this entire situation had been a decided lack of Felix's attention. The man was preoccupied with his game, after all, so Locus could wither away on the inside in private. Even after settling, he hears the creak of _whatever stuffing is inside this monstrosity of a seat_ shift around with every slight movement he makes.

His own attention is trained on the screen, after all. Up until the moment he feels eyes on his face, and turns to see Felix grinning at him in a way that would seem innocent coming from anyone else.

A dark cloud brews on Locus' brow. His eyes droop minutely, offering a flat look in an attempt to appear as unaffected as possible.

"If you laugh," he begins, voice low, because he can sense Felix is on the edge of just such a thing, "I will throw every one of these chairs into space."

And with that, he turns a grey gaze back to the screen, trying his best to absorb what's happening. Uncharted. He's never heard of it.

To be fair, he's never really paid attention to games. Hasn't had the time.

Now, he has an abundance of it.

Quietly, Locus soaks up the information given to him. Isn't sure if he should ask questions ( _how far along are you? What's going on?_ ), or if Felix prefers to play the game in silence. 

This is enough, though. Felix gracing him with that shit-eating grin. The chair so uncomfortably comfortable.

A moment to not be alone.

  


Words alone are almost enough to break him. This is honestly the funniest thing he's ever experienced, but there's no way Felix isn't one million percent certain that if he cracks, all the chairs will indeed find their way out into the vast nothingness of space. If they were closer to some sort of civilization the thought of someone coming across three frozen beanbag chairs drifting among the stars might just be silly enough to go ahead and laugh it up.

As it is, Felix settles himself, content with grinning like a madman, for the moment at least.

He'll remember this later and giggle until his heart is content, but for now he turns back to the game at hand, glad he's found some lull in the adventure for half a second. He'd really hate to lose progress now that he's gotten so far, though it isn't like it'd be hard to make up. The game is relatively easy after all.

Though finding all of the stupid little treasures is tedious and annoying, he keeps having to check the full inventory to make sure he hasn't missed any along the way.

"Stupid piece of shit, where the fuck _are you?_ "

Felix mumbles to himself, as is customary, as his character searches through some city for the third time trying to find the damned treasure.

There better be an achievement for this or Fi might have to settle for throwing this whole set-up out into space himself.

  


Felix seems to take his warning to heart. Though he can feel a laugh eager to bubble in the air, nothing comes. Locus remains tense for a moment, anticipating the loss of composure. After a minute ticks by, internal clock counting down each second, he allows himself to believe nothing will come at all, and turns the entirety of his focus back on the game.

From the looks of it, it seems to be a mix of puzzle solving, combat, and treasure hunting. Though that last one seems to be what Felix might like least. His reaction tells of simmering frustration that isn't fully directed at this one missing "treasure."

"What are you looking for?"

Voice calm, in direct contrast to the spitfire beside him.

Locus leans forward, elbows planted on his knees, and threads his fingers together. Peers at the television to see if he notices anything that stands out.

This shift in position brings him a bit closer to Felix. He can feel the other man's body heat. Has never considered that to be a comforting thing, but here it's surprisingly pleasant.

An indicator—along with the sound of steady breathing, Felix's voice, the scent of him in the room—that Locus isn't alone.

  


Words from his right aren't enough to make him jump, but they're unexpected all the same.

Felix chances a glance over out of the corner of his eye, just in time to see (feels it too) Locus lean forward. The beanbag chair makes a hilarious crumbly, creaky noise, enough to bring that half smile back to Felix's lips even as he continues his inane search for _something_.

Locus asks what he's looking for, but there's really nothing too concrete to give him, even as the man looks as if he's willing to help in whatever's pissing Felix off.

It's ... nice? Another person in the room, the wash of warmth from the larger man's body heat, something refreshing about breathing the same air as another human being. Yeah, actually, it is kinda nice in some round about way that Felix really doesn't want to go about thinking on.

So he doesn't.

"It's like this little glowy light, more than anything else. Small, usually on the ground but it could be on walls or in little nooks or crannies. I dunno why I decided to go about finding all the shitting things but it's about to drive me crazy, and _I can't stop_."

Having someone to express his frustrations to isn't half bad either.

  


As if his question held any sort of importance, Felix responds with a reasonable explanation that only gets more tense the longer he speaks. Locus listens, however. There have been recent times where it was easy to drown out the white noise and pick apart the things that mattered. Up here, trapped in what will likely eventually become their shared coffin, nothing really matters.

So in that sense, _everything_ does.

Including Felix's frustration over a video game.

Locus sets about the task of looking for this "little glowy light" in the same manner he would settle an unsuspecting head in his crosshairs.

He breathes slowly, letting the world fall away until the only thing taking up his considerable focus is the task set before him. Felix moves his character about the screen in no discernible pattern. Retraces areas he's already searched. If it were up to Locus, he would have set out with a pattern in mind and scanned each square foot in a way that no stone was left unturned, and no path visited twice.

As always, he works with what he's given.

After a solid minute of continued struggle, a tiny light blinks to the left of the screen just as Felix turns away from it.

"There," he says, hand snapping up to point at the left edge of the television.

"Beneath that branch."

Slowly, the world comes back into focus, the edges of his vision widening until he can catch Felix in his peripheral. A satisfied half-tilt graces his lips—pleased that he can still be useful, even if it's in such a useless way.

  


As is customary for them, or as it had been in the past, Felix and Locus somehow lull into a comfortable silence. Nothing in the room but their shared breathing, the squeaks of beanbag chairs, and the sounds coming from the game on the television screen.

It fills Felix up on the inside, something like contentment brewing just beneath his skin even as he goes absolutely out of his mind with the inability to find this stupid fucking treasure. It matters and it doesn't, just like everything up here in the cold grip of space. They'll die here, but Felix isn't finished living, first.

A minute passes by, two and three, though by the forth Felix finds himself stopping dead still as Locus finally speaks up once again. The guy's hand shoots out, pointing to a little glowy light just off screen where Felix had turned. He moves his character back and _low and behold._

There it is.

He'd been looking since he'd booted up the game some thirty minutes ago.

Felix blinks as Drake picks up the _stupid fucking coin_ of all things, but his attention is quickly narrowed back onto Locus. Who is now sitting pretty (or uh, not that, poor choice of words) with a little grin upon his lips looking pleased as damn punch.

"From now on," Felix starts, clearing his throat and jerking his attention back to the game.

"You're finding all the treasure, you fuckin' idiot savant."

Frustrated, relieved, and so damn ready to move on, Felix controls the character on screen to the next little checkpoint area. It starts up a cinematic he's only half paying attention to. Doesn't look to Locus, but all his focus is on the man beside him.

  


"Idiot savant" is probably one of the nicer compliments Felix has given him over the years. They're rare to begin with, and Locus hardly thinks such a simple task is deserving of any sort of praise, veiled as it is. Yet it's spoken between them with little thought, and Locus simply hums an acknowledgement.

Because the important part—or at least what he finds important—lies in the other words.

_From now on._

As in, _from now on_ you will be here as I play this game.

_From now on_ , you will participate.

_From now on_ , this task, this purpose, is yours.

Each clicking syllable rings over and over in Locus' head. Unlike the usual noise, this one soothes him more than anything else. He lays both arms over his stomach and leans back, relaxing into the beanbag chair. Legs that had been widened earlier cinch closer, stretch out, until he can hook one ankle casually over the other.

He doesn't really understand the plot. It's probably something he would have to watch from the beginning to truly grasp. But that's fine.

The game isn't what drew him to this room, after all.

If Locus were to watch himself from some hidden spot on the wall, he would probably berate the easy posture and lack of suspicion. His guard is down. It's been dangerously easy to allow that to happen, this past week. He's always considered Felix some breed of feral animal. That fact clings to the back of his head. But recently, things have changed. In minute ways, yes, but a change all the same.

With nothing to say, Locus allows his expression to fall to something placid and watches Felix play his game. Soothed by the companionship even if he would never admit it.

  


It occurs to Felix for the first time since Locus sauntered into the room, that he could have just as easily sent the man away. He has no thought in his mind that Locus would have slunk out of the room, metaphorical tail tucked between his legs, to leave Felix to his easy solitude.

It also occurs to Felix that he never thought to do that in the first place.

That this, right here, Locus splayed out with an easy posture, is exactly what he's been missing at his right side all along. It's not that the man has said much of anything, and yeah he helped in a grueling test of patience, but it wasn't like he was actively giving much at all.

Only that he was, actually. Just being here with Felix makes him feel less alone, less like he's the only one floating in this steel cased bag of bolts to begin with. Not that he's been dwelling on that since he's been here, but it's been maybe in the back of his mind. How he hasn't felt so alone in years and years, than being with Locus only _without him_ all at the same time.

A strange thought, one that buzzes just behind Felix's eyeballs as he runs his character around the screen. Though another firmly attaches itself right there as well.

That he feels like he's done the right thing, kind of inviting Locus to do this with him more often. He hadn't been thinking when he'd mentioned it, or more like demanded it, but now it feels all sorts of right, what with the way it had led to Locus splaying himself out like Sunday dinner. Looking comfortable and y'know, _right_ , slumped over in his beanbag chair.

Which will never not be funny, by the way.

"Ah, shit."

His character takes a sudden gunshot to the shoulder, unscripted by the way Drake remains standing like an idiot. Felix had gotten too distracted.

He hurries the character behind cover, pulls up his inventory to go through his mighty collection of guns and ammo.

  


The game is interesting and all, but Locus can't help the way his attention strays to the man playing it. How Felix curls thin fingers around the controller. Their dexterity as he presses buttons and shifts joysticks without so much as glancing down. How his shoulders hunch forward the slightest bit when he's rapt, so focused on the game it's as if it really is a life or death scenario.

Slowly, given this moment of contemplation, Locus slides his gaze from the top of a progressively messier haircut, down to a smooth brow. Imagines his attention as a droplet of water against the outside of a windshield. Dripping, with a liquid tail curled behind.

This is the last face he will see before he dies.

Objectively, not a terrible outcome.

Cathartic to think about.

Felix has a long, narrow nose and a wan face that, when not appropriately nourished, can come across as too thin. One week of properly balanced meals has given a certain shine to his features. A healthier look to his jaw. Lower, his neck tapers into bony shoulders, the joints prominent, though accentuated by muscle honed to be deadly.

Turning soft eyes back to the screen, Locus unfurls his arms and gives a languid stretch, his too-tight shirt, white, riding up his stomach without his notice. He's lived with ill-fitting clothes for over a month now. The habit of tugging on the hem is useless, though not yet abandoned.

He perks up when an inventory is revealed and the wide scope of something called a "dragon sniper" catches his eye.

_It's just a game_ , yet a giddiness forms in the pit of Locus' stomach at the sight of a clean firearm.

He straightens up, leans forward again. Wonders what Felix will pick.

Wonders what Felix would look like behind the trigger of a sniper rifle.

  


As distracted as he is by the game in front of him, Felix can't help the way he's pulled in. Cycles through his inventory quickly, just to take stock, which he hasn't done since Locus arrived on the scene.

A few pistols, not so good for this long range type battle, unless he runs out of ammo in some of his heavier weapons. Some semiautomatics, a rifle or two, more suited than the pistols but still not very accurate at this range. It's like this world is his own, but smaller and more condensed. It had only taken him a few battles to understand how many meters were shifted into the space between him and his enemies.

Dynamite could do, he's got a few rounds of that, but it'll end up bringing in even more enemies and it's what he uses for swarms of them, or vehicle chases (which this game has had more of than he's had in real life, and that just brings the question, did he live his _best life_ or nah).

No, no, none of that would do. And maybe he's taking too long to decide because Locus is shifting forward in his seat, ready for action, or maybe to at least see one of the last firefights he'll ever see in his life.

Bummer.

Ah, here, the _dragon_ will do.

Felix selects the sniper rifle quickly and moves Drake to another cover through some tall grass that absolutely would not conceal a man of his height and stature, but whatever, suspend your disbelief, right?

The character automatically takes position on the ground, standard position, and Felix takes aim. Can't help the way he zeros in on the best targets to take down, closest first so they won't have as much time to spot his position. One shot and a man is down, another and the next target is dead just the same.

He jumps up, takes closer cover and drops to the ground again. This is a video game, the A.I. doesn't react like any normal humans, but Felix still treats them as if they could come through the television and kill _him_ if he isn't fast enough.

  


Rapt, Locus watches with measured breaths as Felix cycles through his weapons. Seems to have read his mind and settles on the sniper.

A heat flushes through him. Sharp. Excited.

It's just a game, yes, obviously, but that doesn't mean the man playing it is clumsy on the battlefield. He moves with practiced ease, switching positions, taking stock of his enemies, before diving into ridiculously minimal cover and firing a couple shots.

Both hit, and suddenly Locus' vision floods with thoughts of seeing Felix behind _his_ rifle. How the knockback would bruise the other man's shoulder. How Felix would handle himself with such a big weapon.

If the game is anything to go by, that tactical mind of his would be perfectly suited for such a job.

"Nice shot," he says without thinking.

Watches Felix relocate (smart move, even if the enemies don't seem to notice and probably wouldn't have cared to begin with). Sees the intensity with which the man processes this fight—as if it's real, as if the consequences will be dire.

Locus knows nothing about this game, but this aspect of it certainly piques his interest.

  


Games weren't something his family could really afford when he was a kid, sure they would get them a few times a year, for one of their birthdays or Christmas or something like that, but then the fight for it would commence and Felix? Well he was the direct middle child, he would get to play last because of it.

Didn't bother him until ... well, until it did. But because of that, he'd actually had to relearn how to play with one of these stupid controllers as soon as he'd found this old game.

Doesn't think he's doing too shabby now, a month later and he's picking apart the villains almost as well as he would if this was real.

Almost wishes it was, just to feel that same visceral adrenaline. That untamable blood lust that curled up like some venomous snake right underneath his skin, vibrant and alive. This would do in a pinch, though, this and his and Locus' training sessions would have to get him through the rest of his short and pitiful life.

Oh well, maybe he deserves it for said blood lust anyway.

_Nice shot._

Words pierce through his skull like a bullet and Felix comes back to himself. Had gotten a little lost in the virtual bloodshed and his own dark thoughts.

Has Locus ... was that a compliment? Has Locus ever complimented him like that, so unthinkingly?

Interesting. Felix likes it, of course he does, feeds off of the attention and praise of others. Needs it like a drug, especially after spending so much time with the Rebels who were in no short supply of sticking their noses right up Felix's ass.

"Thanks," a reply, not unthinking but carefully crafted.

"This controller is actually a bitch to control."

Continues to nonchalantly blow the heads off of unsuspecting A.I. characters until the little fight scene is over.

"Still prefer knives, but this character isn't exactly the stealthiest."

  


"No," he says softly, brain a bit distracted by the way Felix moves on screen, looting near bodies for additional ammo, using that to pick off the remaining AI.

"He doesn't seem your type."

By which he means, of course, Felix's style of fighting. Sure, flashy brawls are a fun adrenaline rush every now and then, but in previous jobs they'd both leaned more towards stealth. Locus, hidden hundreds of meters away with sightlines narrowed on a target. Felix, knives at the ready, eager to twist on his heel and slide steel across an exposed jugular, the bubbling blood too thick for anyone to make a sound around it.

Locus blinks. Wonders what it means, for a controller to be difficult to handle. The last game he'd ever played was a VR simulation for an antique airplane—some old WWII fighter jet. The controllers look completely different. This console doesn't come with a headset.

"You seem to have gotten accustomed to it," he points out.

The fight is over.

Locus leans back again, kicking his legs out in a relaxed pose.

"Actually," Felix has a quip at the ready, brain ever pressing to make little snide remarks or innuendo, anything he can to make a fuss, but especially at Locus's expense.

"He would definitely be my type."

Takes a moment to think about it now that the words have flown unthinkingly out of his flapping lips. Cocks his head to the side as he walks around looting bodies for anything good he can get his character's hands on.

Drake was tall and masculine, broad shoulders and tapered waist with a big mouth to accentuate his personality. Always with something to say, anything to come back at what's being spoken to him. Doesn't take any shit, grabs what he wants, shoots who he wants, and runs away with the treasure.

Fuck yeah, Felix would definitely be into that.

Not what Locus meant, but it bears thinking about. Especially considering _thinking about it_ is all that Felix has left. No man or woman around to satisfy, so he's gotta turn to his imagination, and while very healthy and vivid, it's a little underwhelming to ponder upon.

A sigh.

"Yeah though, it took about a week before I could get proficient with it. Unintuitive, clunky, moves either too fast or too slow. Finally got it just right for shooting, but the knife throwing is shit so I don't even bother."

Double sigh.

Felix takes a page from Locus's book at that, however, leans back in the beanbag chair and delights in its satisfying crunch as he gets back into the game.

  


The remark is unexpected at first, though in hindsight, Locus realizes he'd fallen into it. It's certainly not the first little comment Felix has made in such a manner—referring to his attraction, what moves him, and how his tastes seem to disregard gender entirely—but it is the first time Locus hasn't immediately swept the comment to the side.

He watches the man on screen. Has gotten a good look at his face already from a previous cinematic. In action, Locus picks apart the breadth of his shoulders, the way he's built. Strong. Typically handsome. A bit of a battered up nose.

If he dwells on this line of thought too long, it will inevitably lead down a road he's not prepared to travel. One that imagines more of what Felix likes. How he likes it. With whom. When, and where.

His mind is cursed, at times.

It's with a deep, relieved breath that Locus focuses on new words thrown his way. Zeroes in on wistful sighs.

"You know," he begins, clearing his throat. "We could set up a target for you."

The little rec room is an inner structure within the ship, after all. If by some impossible chance Felix happened to miss the target, piercing a wall wouldn't be detrimental because it doesn't lead to the vast space surrounding them.

Locus drags his attention from the screen and instead surveys the room for a good spot to set something like that up. They have the materials for it.

"Some productive scratching for an incessant itch would probably be good for you."

Spoken while he drags his gaze back to Felix, giving him a quick once-over.

  


Okay so it was a nice thought (and still is, in a way) until Locus tacks on that last little bit.

Felix feels himself tighten up on the inside, _productive scratching for an incessant itch_ , if that wasn't the most perfect way to put every feeling that was currently balled up inside his chest, well Felix hadn't thought of anything better.

Makes every itch come to the surface all at once.

He's never going to speak to another person again, never going to feel that headrush of attention, fire a weapon, feel the slick pool of blood underneath his hands. He'll never get revenge on the Reds and Blues, the fuckers on Chorus, Command. Washington or Carolina and Church. Everyone was just getting off scot free while he and Locus rot on some godforsaken ship.

He'll never be fucked again, never share a bed with another warm body, feel that split second of affection, that heady figment of something more he could always imagine before leaving for the night.

Wow.

Super bummer.

Felix slouches ever further into the chair, the crunch far less satisfying this time around.

"Best I'll ever get, I guess."

He doesn't look over to Locus even as he feels eyes sweep down his body. For the first time in a long time, he'd rather hide from that gaze more than anything else, feels as if Locus could see right through him if he looked too closely.

"I'll take it."

  


He can't help but study closely. There isn't much else interesting enough on this ship to hold his attention for long, and besides, Locus needs more information to file away in his "Felix" folder.

So when the man hunkers down even lower, voice a flat line, eyes glossy for just a moment while unspoken thoughts dig clearly and cleanly through his brain—yes, Locus is watching.

He'd thought the suggestion would be a good idea. Felix has a wild nature, a deadly side that needs an outlet. This is a fact. Simple. Succinct.

Locus has seen the look in his eyes when there's fresh blood on his hands. Has seen it recently, with a wide mouth smelling like copper and a manic happiness in his eyes. How Felix had _laughed_ when rage had moved Locus to punch him, hard.

So yes. An outlet for that would be ideal. No part of Locus worries on this inner nature, in and of itself. It's a part of Felix. He can't change that. He wouldn't even try.

Though now, the man sitting beside him seems …

It's difficult to place. Morose, maybe. Smaller than usual.

Alright. Time to backtrack. What had Locus said? Scratching an itch. Had that been the trigger? A solution had already been presented, however.

Outcomes, then. Felix dislikes knowing that Locus _knows_ he needs an outlet. Maybe. Or, Felix doesn't want to admit to needing an outlet in the first place. More probable, but either possibility would be better met with anger, not a quiet contemplation.

Maybe Felix has more itches to scratch. More than can be satisfied.

Possible.

The question is, then, is Locus the sort of man who can help? Is he the sort of person who wants to help?

He dwells on this for a moment, eyes locked into place staring at Felix while the world falls away until he's curling against the innermost parts of his own mind. It's relatively easy to come to a conclusion. He'd already suggested building a target, after all, and that had taken no thought to press the words from his lips.

Locus is the kind of man who would like to help.

"What else do you need?"

Spoken openly, with a soft willingness behind the tone. Does Felix need to spill blood again? Locus can help with that. They'll alter their training, allow for a few controlled fights. Does he need more purpose on the ship? There's a long list of chores Locus would be more than willing to share. A listening ear? He's of a patient disposition, that one should be easy.

Locus approaches this problem with a quiet confidence that he can solve it.

  


Annnd yeah, yup. There it is, clear as crystal.

One thing that hasn't changed all that much, apparently. Locus's ability to look at Felix and see through him is definitely a thing still in play.

Whereas most weren't so ballsy to ask in the first place, or they were people who Felix had to put on a thicker mask for, no one has really been able to claw their way over his shields and barriers that he freely lets down around Locus without even thinking. He's the one who'd slunk down in his seat, head heavy with deep thoughts and desires. Felix is the one with tells bright as a goddamn comet.

He shouldn't be surprised that Locus, even though this guy isn't _his_ , would bring it up regardless of the fact that Felix wasn't really apt to just give information away.

Would it be different if Felix were stranded with a different person? One who didn't know him? One he could seduce so fully that it wouldn't matter who he was in the first place?

Maybe.

But that wasn't the case.

The case was Locus asking him, point blank and trying to be what, helpful?

Well, if this guy could be a little straightforward, then why couldn't Felix? He's always been one to say whatever's on his mind to begin with, never had a problem saying what he needs or doesn't. Especially to this man, above all people. And no, this Locus isn't his, may never be again, but that's also part of the problem now, isn't it?

Because before, Felix could've said, _"Don't think you'll be the one to bend over for me, big guy."_ and do so while cackling all the way because the reaction would be priceless, even if it was just a stone faced glare.

This Locus, however, doesn't even -- he just _looks so_ \-- well, shit. It's just different, and every atom in Felix's body understands that but his head is a little fucked, alright.

"Oh, y'know," though he can't be as frank as he wants to be, Felix can go a roundabout way.

"Revenge on Control, the blood of the Sim Troopers on my hands, to share a bed with a nice hot body, to see every last Freelancer's head on a spike."

His head lulls to the side where it's leaned back on the beanbag chair, body slumped into the thing that much, so he can peer over at his companion.

"Not really things you can help me out with, Loc."

And with that, he's slurping himself back up into a more suitable position. Continues the game like nothing's really happened in the first place.

  


_Oh._

Thoughts of continuing this useful streak begin and end quite suddenly. Locus listens attentively to Felix's wants and finds himself, as the other man says, that they are things he can't really help with.

Finding the Sim Troopers would be ill-advised, if it was even possible. Call it superstition, or call it gut instinct, but something tells Locus that seeking those blindingly lucky idiots would only end in their demise. Not worth it. Destroying the Freelancers? Possible, though he's unsure he would even bother with the effort. They're already a scattered group of bandits with no cause.

And he isn't eager to see Agent Washington's colors again.

Control is a more reasonable possibility. They'd been cheated out of a paycheck, after all. Had spent too many years under the thumb of careless, dangerous idiots. Revenge on their former boss is certainly a cause Locus could get behind. But, again, the whole _lost in space_ thing makes such a fantasy impossible.

Sharing a bed.

That one makes Locus pause. Lidded eyes fall to limp hands hanging between his legs.

The idea that Felix doesn't find Locus attractive—that Locus _isn't his type_ —seems to be the correct notion, here. He's a bit too big, perhaps, his frame too daunting. Not traditionally handsome like the video game character on screen. Hair cut short, though it is growing out quite steadily. Jaw too wide, nose too broad. Not to mention the scar.

"Oh," he says, dumbly.

It's an interesting thought. One that hasn't crossed his mind because, well.

Locus has been pretty celibate already. There is no one in his life that he trusts enough to take to bed with him. Finds only passing attraction when presented with people who contain specific traits, but his physical desire is shaky at best.

Perhaps the closest he's come to something resembling _want_ in the last decade had been his obsession with Agent Washington. He'd wanted to know how the man worked, and that desire had presented itself in alarmingly consuming ways.

If the Freelancer had asked to bed him, Locus would have probably accepted. If only to be given the time to pick his brain more. To see what made him tick. To see if he could break the man down mentally. Would he have easily given his body to come to a more satisfying conclusion?

The thought plagues him now, and no answers are found between the cracks of limp fingers.

No answers are found to solving the crisis of Felix's needs.

He flicks his gaze over when Felix straightens up again. Slides it from the man, back to the screen.

"We'll start with a target," he says. "And figure out the rest."

  


_Oh_ , he says like Locus hadn't actually thought anything about his offer, like he was way off base, and really that brings up a lot of questions for Felix in return.

What was Locus thinking that he could actually help with?

Maybe a question for another day, however, because he's had quite enough of the sharing and caring for one night. Felix just wants to sit here now and play the game until his eyes bleed. Until he's good and ready to never see the light of fake daylight again.

Or maybe he just wants to sleep for the next three years. Sleep until he's dead so he doesn't have to think again, doesn't have to bother with Locus or anything else in this place.

Yeah, that'd be nice wouldn't it.

"Sure thing, big guy."

Lets the little petname slip, from when Locus was his and Felix could at least pretend to be Isaac Gates every now and then. Goes back to his game like this conversation never happened in the first place.


	7. Scene VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We're the let-down, we're the lied-to, where the lost go and it finds you  
> Where the lonely make the lonely feel less lonely."  
> — [the broken hearts club](https://open.spotify.com/track/3Uu6pcfL9xsdfsKRx3DXRf?si=P9wp792KQpCz5e1Ks-U5cw), Gnash

Locus has been spat on by war criminals. He's suffered degrading conditions in below freezing temperatures only to miss what should have been an easy shot. He'd gone through hazing at the UNSC. Recently, a beanbag chair has thoroughly demoralized him.

And in all his years, nothing has been quite as infuriating as attempting to fix this godforsaken slipspace engine.

It had taken one whole month to repair the nav system. Three additional months have passed, and Locus isn't even close to finishing the first step towards fixing the fucking engine that will save their lives.

They're going to die there.

He'd known this, but some small part of him had retained a modicum of hope.

Now, his body fills with a venomous anger that has no outlet except for the feeling of a punching bag thumping weightily beneath clenched fists. He'd taped off his hands for the act.

It hadn't kept his knuckles from splitting, or blood from seeping through.

At least he can clean the vinyl. Wipe it down with antiseptic later. At least he can do that.

Rage motivates him in this moment. It simmers just slightly above loud voices gnawing on his brain, wheezing out _failure_ and _useless_ and _worthless little thing_.

Another hit.

Three months of studying the engine's inner mechanisms, picking apart each piece, investing every ounce of logic and reasoning and brain power into solving this puzzle, and he couldn't even tell you what's broken, let alone how to fix it.

He can't do it.

He can't save them.

It's _infuriating_.

He rumbles out a desperate noise. Throws another punch. The punching bag rocks to one side. Hands sting. Eyes wild. His full weight goes into every painful hit, shoulders and arms already aching with exertion, and it's not enough.

It's never going to be enough.

  


Months have gone by and it isn't as if Felix had much hope of rescue of any sort, but after a while that bone deep _knowledge_ of death kinda started to sink in. Sure, he knew there wasn't much they could do, even with Locus working every day on the slipspace machine, it was rather ... hopeless.

Not really a situation Felix has ever found himself in, and that was more the crux of the problem than anything.

Death wasn't such a terrifying concept, but the idea that it was just an inevitability, to be snuffed out in his prime in some tin can dawdling in the midst of space? Well that was a little soulsucking, if Felix is honest with himself. Something he's become a bit more comfortable with doing, as of late.

What else was there, really? Just himself and Locus, and some things just weren't shareable. So Felix has started sharing with himself. Sharing his own thoughts and feelings, letting it all out so to speak, if only in the confines of his own head.

A big jump from just a few months ago when he was strutting around Chorus like the prettiest cock at the ball. Which he was, don't get him wrong, but now? He's just another speck in the vast collection of specks that make up the universe. Nothing special about him.

Still awesome, but now that it means nothing? It's a little easier to just let that billow away in the nonexistent wind.

Something not easy to wash away? Locus.

He's always there, in the best of times and the worst of times, though really he's been holed away, quiet and patient, working on the slipspace accelerator. Day in and out, all he does is work on the damned thing and make food for Felix, though he does make it into the rec room when Felix is going to play Uncharted. He's a staple of that now, eagle eyes peeled for any treasure Felix may overlook.

Which is ... nice. More than, actually, because fuck all if having another person in the room doesn't make Felix feel _alive_ now.

It's the only thing that does.

Another startling realization that Felix has had, this one in the middle of the day, mid-nap, after some heinous dream in which he'd escaped alone and perished just that way. A rather tame dream all things considered, but one that's so close to home it's probably the worst thing his overactive imagination could have concocted.

Should've known better than to take a nap in the first place, all it does is make him groggy and shit it isn't like he hasn't been getting enough sleep as it is. The routine Locus put him on is actually well suited for him, and come to think of it, where is that dick head anyway?

Felix has been wandering the halls of the ship for about fifteen minutes now, and Locus isn't where he should be at this time. A fault of their schedules, maybe, but Felix has looked in the engines bay, the kitchen, the pantry, there was no water running in the communal shower area, so _where the fuck_ …

A sudden pounding can be heard from the recreation room.

Well, what you're searching for is always in the last place you look.

Making his way down the hall, Felix is met with some sort of foreboding feeling. This is it, isn't it? He already understands the problem before he's met with the answer to his question. Knows exactly why Locus is in there beating the hell out of a punching bag instead of digging through the scrap of the accelerator. It can't be fixed, and Locus is coming to terms with that fact.

Sighing, Felix steps up to lean against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. From this vantage point he's close enough to see the blood flecking across Locus's bandaged knuckles, across the punching bag itself, hell he can hear the wet slap of it and it sickens him, in this moment.

"Locus."

Felix speaks out, just to get the guy to stop, but finds he doesn't actually know what to say after that.

  


He isn't upset because he's useless. That's a big part of it, but doesn't paint the whole picture. And it isn't about their inevitable crawl towards a withering demise. Locus accepted death a long time ago. Maybe not this particular kind—always imagined he would die in the field, on some mission, riddled with bullet holes, his lifeblood seeping into the floor.

It's that, in the last few months, he's been getting to know himself a little more. He knows he likes to cook for Felix, just to see the other man's reaction to a new dish. He knows he enjoys spending time in the rec room watching his partner pick through (what he calls) a "completionist run" of some video game. He knows he likes to listen to the hum of the air scrubbers each morning. He knows he likes the view, and hates beanbag chairs, and could live the rest of his life without ever handwashing clothes again and be all the happier for it.

He knows he wanted to be a hero. He wanted to be the one to save them.

Locus hadn't forced Felix's hand when they'd fled Chorus. He hadn't chosen this ship. But in some way, his tired words, _enough_ , had been the catalyst for all of this.

In some way, he'd gotten them into this situation, and it only made sense that the burden of getting them _out_ rests on his shoulders.

And to know that the only thing standing in the way of that is his limited knowledge and inability to understand?

It's the twist of a knife in an already gaping wound.

His arm pulls back, preparing for another hard hit, one aimed directly on a wide split in his skin—he's eager to feel the pain of it, bright and bursting—when Felix's voice rings through the room.

Frozen. Statuesque in an instant.

Locus holds the pose. Sucks in a bedraggled breath, his chest tight from exertion. It takes a solid sixty seconds for him to lower his arm.

His shoulders hunch forward while he ducks his head downward. Keeps inhaling deeply, through the nose and out the mouth. Trying desperately to gain a composure that has fled the ship and sailed off into the darkness of space.

When he turns, his eyes are wild, wide, and red around the very edges. On the verge of a panic attack. Hell, he's in the middle of one.

Locus has failed them.

  


Watching Locus had always been one of those pastimes that felt like a car accident. It was too much and not enough all in the same instance, someone you wanna look away from because of that, but find that you can't because there's something interesting there, something just beneath the surface that Felix knows, if he looks hard enough? He can figure it out.

Not many people have afforded him that interest in his life. Felix could gaze over a person's face, their body language, and understand what they're thinking, what they know, what they _want_. All in an instant. People were easy like that, simple.

Locus has never been either of those things, but here? He feels more like a person than Felix has ever seen him as.

He looks human, even as still a statue as he is, head bent down and trying to even out his breath into something more controlled. But when he looks up, looks Felix in the eye, there's an understanding there that this can't be controlled.

That he's been trying to control their situation for months and is only now coming to terms with how pointless it all is. He looks beaten down, like a wild animal is trying to escape from underneath his skin. Felix has felt that before, doesn't really know what to do for a blip of time, so he just watches.

Sees a man in front of him, not a machine, not a soldier. A man who'd been letting his hair grow back out, who has to wear too tight clothing because that's all they have, one who likes to cook and suffers sitting on stupid beanbag chairs even though it's obvious he fucking hates it.

A sigh is what finally escapes Felix, but his posture is easy as he pushes off the door frame and strides into the room to stand in front of his partner.

Felix, it seems, is starting to feel a little more human here as well.

"Lemme see your hands."

Doesn't tack on one of the customary insults, feels that Locus is doing enough to that himself, at the moment. Holds his hands out to receive Locus' larger ones.

  


In such a state, Locus imagines himself as more animal than man. Thinks it wouldn't take much to bite into the flesh of his own arm. Rip it off. Just to experience a different sensation than the one that currently plagues him.

Doubt. Frustration. Helplessness.

Since when has he felt _helpless?_

Like this, there is no discernible shape to the room. It fell away long ago. Replaced by sensation and smell. Recycled air, old vinyl, blood. Even while staring wildly at the source of what had broken his absolute concentration, Locus doesn't really see a man in front of him until Felix steps into the room.

His expression goes flat. Anticipates a scolding. For his partner to berate him for such pointless, weak behavior. An insult. He'd deserve it. Some soldier he turned out to be. With everything stripped away, Locus finds no difference between himself and any other pathetic life he's snuffed out.

Instead, Felix strides closer with ease, comes to a stop far too close given the feral heat banging around in Locus' chest. For a long moment after the other man speaks, Locus simply blinks down at the hands extended between them, not understanding. His lips have pulled themselves into a straight line in a pointless attempt to school his features into something neutral.

It doesn't work.

Frantic eyes bore into Felix's face for a long moment. His chest heaves, but he isn't able to suck in enough oxygen to settle it.

When he offers up his own hands on impulse rather than choice, one edge of white medical tape wrapped around his knuckles dangles motionlessly between them. He stares at it. Watches a thin line of blood leak from somewhere beneath the bandage, leaving a bright red trail down this lone strip of tape. It bubbles on the end. Drips onto the carpeted floor.

He'll have to clean that up later.

  


Here's the part where it all gets a little tricky.

Felix knows that boundless frustration, that bloodcurdling feral feeling that outlets itself in rage and pain, knows more than anyone else in the universe what Locus is feeling in this moment. It had been exactly what he felt while dealing with those Sim Trooper idiots. That feeling that no matter what he did, he was fucking helpless against their stupid luck and unending pointlessness.

So yeah, he understands it, but how does he make Locus get that it's _over now?_

There's nothing to be said for it, the lack of knowledge in literal rocket science isn't Locus' fault. It's not about being a soldier here, not about getting out. Not anymore, and maybe it's never been -- even if it's been one of the only things motivating Locus to keep going with this pitiful existence.

The feeling in the room doesn't scare Felix. Let Locus start taking the frustration out on him, he can handle it, or die trying. Better than the alternative, though it would leave Locus to deal with the fallout on his own and for some reason, that doesn't quite settle right with Felix all the same.

Another sigh, but he doesn't hesitate to reach out, take one of Locus's larger hands in his own, just to inspect the damage there.

Unraveling the medical tape over his partner's right hand, Felix takes care not to pull at any parts sticking to his skin, blood dried from how long he's been going at this. The wounds are superficial, no bone showing through, though really Felix probably caught it just in time. He wouldn't put it past Locus to break his own fingers in search of a finer feeling than this ... what is it? Helplessness?

Probably.

Skin fully revealed, Felix wraps up the soiled tape into some little ball to wipe away the leaking blood from broken skin. Tosses it to the floor uncaring before he moves onto Locus's left hand.

"Who puts carpet in the exercise room, anyway. They had to have known that was a bad idea, fucking idiots."

Finds himself talking just to fill up the room with something besides their breathing and the sound of medical tape peeling away from bloody hands.

"Think we should rip it all up and jettison it out into space. The trashcan it deserves, who even likes carpet anyway? Just like traps gross shit, no one ever enjoys it for more than the thirty minutes after it's been laid."

  


What ... is this? Words trickle in over the whooshing sound of violent water running between Locus' ears. Is Felix talking about the carpet?

It's strange. Not the rant or the topic of conversation itself, because that's rather typical of Felix, to go off on tangents like this.

But he doesn't comment on the blood or the battered state of Locus' hands. Doesn't call it a temper tantrum. Doesn't mention it at all, really. Just peels away bandages with careful precision, making sure to clean up what he can along the way.

Locus barely processes this, but it does lick across the back of his mind. _Weak_. So weak, even Felix feels the need to take care of him, because it's quite obvious Locus can't do that for himself right now.

Christ.

Words press against his lungs. Crawl into his throat. He swallows them down. They'd be rough, anyways. Torn up from the tight frustration that has closed off his esophagus.

_What are you …_

The aborted thought could make him laugh if he didn't feel so hollowed out inside. He remembers the last time those words had been spoken in this room. How he'd straddled Felix's waist. How the other man hadn't even bothered to struggle. Split lips and bruises on both their faces. Felix had let the words slip past, a confused look on his features, and Locus had fled, unsure of the answer.

The same look is mirrored on his face now. Slowly, his eyes travel upward, enough to stare at clinical fingers pressed to his own. Brow drawn. Lips pressed together.

He doesn't know what to say. _I'm sorry_ doesn't cut it. Doesn't fit. Has no meaning. Besides, he's not sure his voice could even be heard over the noise in his head.

No, it's ... easier, somehow, to let Felix move him.

  


Just as he'd seen with Locus's right hand, the left is in no better shape, but no worse. Not that it would matter either way, Felix was quite adept at bandaging wounds, even knew how to set broken bone. Not that much could hurt them to that extent, super soldiers and all, but it was better to know than be stranded out in the battlefield with no sort of knowledge on the subject.

Looking over his partner's wounds is at the forefront of his mind, however, so Felix does what he does best and just lets his mouth open and close, forming words almost before he even has the thought of them in the first place.

It's easy, distracts them both maybe from the slightly ... precarious situation they've found themselves in.

"Y'know there's a difference between inevitability and failure, right?"

Because this isn't something they _do_. Definitely isn't something Felix does in the very least. He doesn't feel many things for people, one of his strengths, if you were to ask him. But that doesn't mean he doesn't know how they work, or doesn't maybe want to be helpful when it also benefits him.

Making sure Locus stays with him, Felix has found over the past few months, is detrimental to his own sanity.

"This?"

He takes the time then to gesture around with one hand, while still holding Locus's left in his other, unthinkingly clutching it as if he could ground the guy in this moment and take him out of his head if only to listen to this.

"Was definitely the former."

Doesn't do much for a second, just letting those words sink in. He doesn't think of this as a failure -- sure, Locus is the one who really got them into this mess in the first place, but Felix was the one who accepted that out. Who grabbed the shitty ship and blinked them out into a random direction.

As much as he hates to think of it this way, it's his fault too.

"So, ya wanna fight or get some food? After I bandage you back up, that is, shoddy job by the way I know how hard you hit, and this was never going to cut it."

Lays those options down clearly between them while also throwing in that veiled compliment because it's true, okay? Locus did a shit job of wrapping his hands because he wanted to hurt, and yeah, Felix gets that. But what's the point, anymore?

Maybe they've hurt enough, actually.

  


If he was still a machine, blank, unfeeling, it would be easy to bury the hurt in his chest. To take calm breaths. To ease himself back under control.

But machines are built for a purpose, with clear tasks set before him, and fixing the engine had been Locus' clear task. Barring that, there's nothing left for him. No chance at redeeming his mistakes.

Weighed down by these thoughts, what brings him back to the surface ends up being a peculiar thing. A gentle tone—no, not _gentle_ , but even, composed. Calloused fingers running over his hand. How they tighten, suddenly, and his split knuckles sting with enough sharp vibrancy to drag Locus out of a storm cloud.

Eyes snap up at that, pinning Felix with a blank, hard gaze. Every ounce of frustration pours through the look—anger, heat. It wouldn't surprise him if the man melted beneath it.

But Felix holds strong, seemingly unconcerned, and certainly unafraid.

That's right. This man has never really been afraid of him, has he? Has always met every rough look, every dark threat, head-on. Often with a grin. A pointy look of his own.

His hands start to tremble. Bloodloss or pain, maybe. A hopeless inability to keep himself steady, more likely.

_There's a difference between inevitability and failure._

The words might as well be a fist, curled tight and ruthless. They hit Locus hard enough to knock the breath from him and wipe away that deadly expression on his face. It's replaced by a widened stare, blinking eyes.

How can a man so much smaller than him make him _feel so small?_

Felix doesn't tease, however. Doesn't take back the words or amend them with something to make him bleed a little bit more. He moves with understanding. With a certain type of care. Offers a compliment, even if it's in a roundabout way.

"Food," Locus says, voice filled with shrapnel. An explosive has gone off in his chest, and everything he thought he'd been working towards becoming, had crumpled beneath the pressure of—

Not failure.

Inevitably.

Rage leaves his body like poison blood pouring out, and after, Locus sways, a hollowed out man.

  


At that one word, grit out between tight vocal cords, Felix feels something within himself deflate. Not like he wouldn't have taken a licking, if it would make Locus feel more ... well, whatever it was at the end of this tunnel, but he wasn't really feeling up for a fight. It wouldn't have been his best, hell, he'd have probably let himself be beaten into a pulp at this point.

He's just fucking tired of it. Of the rage and hate that used to fuel him, and even if he doesn't have anything pushing him forward anymore, even if he feels empty and listless because of it? Well, somehow it feels a little better.

Yeah, they've had enough pain. Might as well become old men early, since they aren't going to be able to reap that particular benefit of living. Not that Felix wants to die any other way than young and beautiful.

Will the gaunt look of starvation suit him? Better than being wrinkly and shitting himself, that's for damn sure. There's a silver lining to everything, and it's with that pleasant (?) thought that he picks himself up, ready to carry Locus right along with him.

Because they're partners again. This Locus isn't the one from before, but Felix has changed too much to dwell on that particular fact. This is a new era, a short one, but fuck it all if Felix isn't ready to just say _fuck everything_. Sounds pretty damn good right about now.

"Good. I know just the thing. Actually it's the only thing I know how to make, but as with everything I do, it's fucking amazing."

It's easy to fall back into his safe rhythm, yammering on just to feel the comfort of his own voice taking up space. He doesn't plan for Locus to speak back, but that's how it's always been meant to be. Two shitty mercs against the world, and isn't that gratifying to think? Even if the world has been narrowed down to inevitable starvation, Felix isn't alone.

"Medbay first, need to make sure you don't get an infection. You know how bad that shit smells."

And he's off, dropping Locus's hand to make way to the little medical area, he'd found a good amount of supplies there when they got into their first little tussle.

  


Felix speaks. He's been speaking, but now that anger has fled him, there's a little more room in Locus' head to hear the words.

He clings to them in a way he never has before. The other man has a smooth tenor, a particular lilt. One that's relaxed and easy, doesn't demean him or talk to him like he's anything other than what he is.

A person. A man. That's all.

Surprisingly enough, one particular inhale gets the point across and blessed air fills Locus' lungs to capacity. Like the first sip or water after days without, he allows himself just a blink of time to languish in this moment.

Felix's hands clasping his own. His fingers are cool to the touch. Poor circulation. The bandages are off and it's glaring just how badly Locus has messed up his hands. Gashes between the knuckles, blood bubbling up profusely. There will be bruising. He had been stopped before he ended up breaking anything, however.

"Alright," he says, tightness forming in the back of his throat when Felix drops his hand and turns to leave.

It takes a solid ten seconds before Locus realizes he's supposed to follow.

He does so blindly. Thinks he would gladly follow this man to the end of the world. The last stitch in their galaxy. Beyond that, too.

If the last few months have taught him anything, it's that Locus is a person with very few needs. One in particular, though, is something he's not sure he could go without.

The thought sticks to the front of his brain, gains volume while he stares at the back of the other man's neck. Follows Felix to the medbay with heavy footfalls on bare feet.

  


This has all been easier than Felix expected it would be.

Had thought maybe they'd come to blows as soon as he'd touched Locus, seeing and feeling the feral rage in the room, knew that if their positions had been switched, he definitely would've thrown a few hands. Or well, that's what he'd done a few months ago.

Thinking on it now, the outcome is a little uncertain. Probably would've depended on how Locus handled the situation. Kinda like how a lot of things are centering around the guy, lately. They take meals together, whatever and whenever Locus wants, they train at the time Loc wanted, take turns showering, hell even on Felix's off time when he's dicking around with the game Locus is right there beside him.

Usually Felix likes a variety of company, men and women alike, anyone he can wow, or woo, or generally just shoot the shit with.

Locus is becoming the center of everything, and surprisingly enough, Felix can't find that he minds.

Or wait, not everything. 

Felix comes to a screeching halt in his head, goes over the words he'd just thought and erases one in particular. There's no wooing going on here, thank you very much, but it's a testament to how long it's been since any said wooing could happen that he's throwing that in the blanket statement of what Locus is becoming for him.

Stupid brain.

He throws a fancy little shutdown on that shit as they arrive at the makeshift Medbay. Doesn't turn around to make sure Locus is with him before he starts ruffling around the drawers to pull out more medical tape, gauze, antibacterial goop, and pain meds. He sits in one of the two chairs there and waits for Locus to follow suit, still without looking to him.

The guy's presence is like a physical weight in the air anyway, Felix knew he was being followed without ever turning around, feels Locus enter the room behind him in just the same manner.

  


After filling their shared space with his voice, Felix goes quiet. Not in an uncomfortable way. As of late, the silences between them have been rather companionable. Whether Locus is watching him play that game, or throw around knives into a makeshift target, or eat the food he's prepared for them, they've both somehow fallen into a domestic rhythm that isn't nearly as unbearable as Locus had imagined it might be.

These thoughts flood his mind. After scraping his insides out and spilling them so thoroughly on the floor, the empty space left hums eagerly for anything else to fill it.

Obsessive as he is, Locus can't help but turn his thoughts toward the man he trails behind.

They make it into the medbay and he hovers at the door, unsure, while his partner rifles through drawers for supplies.

Felix is taking care of him.

Locus processes this information like he might process the plot in a movie.

Felix is putting effort into ensuring Locus doesn't harm himself, and that the wounds already inflicted heal properly. Touches him as if he isn't some rabid dog ready to bite a few fingers off. Or maybe he's aware of that, and doesn't mind either way.

Exhausted, Locus deflates into the unoccupied seat. Eyes trained on Felix the entire time, though the other man doesn't look his way.

When Locus parts his lips, they're dry. He wets them. Releases a deep breath, feeling more tired now than he has since their last moments on Chorus. Things have changed drastically since then. He's still berating himself for showing weakness, sure, but it doesn't feel so bad if Felix is the only one who sees it.

He'd been _enraged_ moments earlier. Ready to tear flesh off bone. But the man across from him had found a way to take all that frustration and cast it aside. And still Locus knows next to nothing about him. His fighting styles, sure. His psychology, yes, he's got a certain sort of grasp on that.

But his humanity?

"How old are you?"

Locus realizes, suddenly, that he doesn't know the answer to this question. Had Felix enrolled in the military fresh out of high school, or had he waited a few years like Locus? It had always seemed irrelevant before, _unnecessary information_ , but right now every dark deadly thought is trying to fill up that emptiness inside him once again, and Locus thinks he'd rather be filled with Felix instead.

...

Well, wait, not like that.

A crease forms across his brow.

  


Locus all but collapses into the chair across from Felix and there's a sense of comradery there that Felix had been a little afraid to poke at before. He was known for his insane bouts of feeling, usually it hinted toward something darker in him, vicious and deadly. Locus has seen it before, been on the other end only once, but it had ended rather suddenly.

Felix, however, has never seen this side of Locus. That all encompassing _feeling_. It felt maybe like it was too much for him to see, even if he was the one to pull Loc out of it, still it was a weakness in certain ways.

He hadn't minded that Locus saw it of him, he was the source at the time (partially, anyway), but it feels like maybe Locus might've minded that Felix was there to stop him before he spiraled out of control. The way Loc sits in front of him now, a shell, exhausted and weak from it?

It's eye opening, a bit.

Not that Felix is going to poke that particular bear, nope, he was done doing that for a hot minute, anyway. Next time he feels that hot seething rage, though, that might be a different story. How would it be to fight Locus like that? When he's only thinking to hurt, maim, anything in his path.

Would be interesting, no doubt in that.

For now, however, Felix sets out tending to the other man's wounds with careful fingers. He doesn't treat Locus like glass, much the opposite, really. The man had wanted to hurt, and it's going to linger, there was nothing he could do to sugarcoat that anyway. So he cleans the cuts on one hand first, Locus's right once again.

There's a sudden question in the air, however, one Felix hadn't seen coming. It gives him pause for a moment, makes him look up to the man who's so curious all the sudden. Sees the furrow between Locus's brow and doesn't exactly (for the first time in a long time) understand what it means.

"Thirty uh," wait _how old is he again?_

"Four?"

Turns back to the task at hand, moving on to clean Locus's left hand before grabbing the antiseptic.

  


The bite of medical salve nibbles on his skin. Stings. It's a good kind of hurt. One Locus tolerates without flinching. Not even a twitch of the eye.

No, he's far more invested in the man in front of him than the pain. How nimble fingers smooth across his knuckles. How they look so narrow compared to larger, darker hands.

When was the last time Locus had been touched with anything other than malice behind the motion? He ... can't remember. Pulls his lower lip between his teeth and chews with the realization flitting behind grey eyes.

Releases the hold when Felix looks up, finally makes eye contact.

He looks confused for a moment. Not unsurprising. The question hadn't come with any lead up, after all. Only one of many thoughts swirling around in Locus' head.

Thirty-four. That means Locus is four years older than this man. If they'd grown up in the same town, they would have seen each other in passing as grade school children.

Which is another interesting thought. Imagining Felix as a _child_.

He wonders if his partner had asked for a knife for Christmas, as a toddler. Blinks, surprised that there is any room in his tired body for anything other than gut-wrenching exhaustion, but he huffs an amused breath regardless.

Wordlessly, Locus' eyes drop back to the hands between them. How sterile Felix is, and yet it feels somehow intimate, letting this man handle his wounds. Something Locus will probably regret later, but for now, he relaxes beneath the touch, shoulders slumping forward, thoughtlessly bringing them that much closer.

  


"Something funny about that?"

Felix asks, usual snark firmly in place, though there's little heat behind the words. More like it's just an honest question, like _why do you wanna know_ would be, if he had the mind to speak it.

He doesn't, actually. Doesn't have much worry over why any questions are asked of him at this point in time. There's nothing left to be curious about, actually, and Felix can't say he hasn't had some random thoughts about Locus in the last few months, if he's honest.

Not that he's had the balls to say anything about it, keeps it to himself like a multitude of things he now has to. Another little honest tidbit that's been floating around in his head ever since Locus offered his particular brand of unhelpful help.

Some things just didn't have a solution. Something he'd come to terms with a long ass time ago.

Ignores his shifting thoughts for the moment in lieu of fixing the current problem at hand. Literally, it being Locus' hands and how the man puts up absolutely no fight against Felix as he continues bandaging the guy up. Not something he'd seen coming, but hell he hadn't really thought he'd follow through with the offer either.

But it makes him feel useful, in a way. Needed.

He moves on with the gauze, that piercing thought bouncing around his skull.

  


"No," he says, clearing his throat. It doesn't help. His voice is as wrecked as he imagined it would be after rumbling exertion had seared its way through him.

He could end it there. In any other place and any other lifetime, he would. But Felix continues his work without pause despite the typical sharpness in his tone, and there's something to be said about that.

Camaraderie shown, and not simply spoken.

So Locus continues to talk, even if it isn't necessary.

"You're younger than me. I thought of you as a child. What kind of knives you might ask for, for Christmas."

Succinct.

His eyes remain fixed on Felix's hands. His own currently being dressed with clean bandages. Already it feels better. Less sticky. Not as tight, where dried blood had started to cake and crack between the knuckles.

Offhandedly, he wonders what he'll owe Felix after this. Not in a bad way. Just ... isn't sure how to pay something like this back.

  


Oh, huh.

Felix is left staring down at his own hands as they work to patch Locus' up. He moves with a quick, easy efficiency that he's always prided himself on. He's been this way since his training at basic, actually. Learns like a whip, just one glance and he's left with knowledge and understanding as long as it's something he deems necessary.

Not something he's always been capable of, actually, speaking of him as a child. Always the one left wanting, dead middle of five kids raised in a less than wealthy family, he had to act out to get noticed, had to do whatever it took to claim his own space in the world.

It still felt like that when he entered the military, but he was good at it by then. Dead set on becoming one of the best to make up for ... things. That happened. Because of him. Something even in his newly enlightened state he still doesn't afford himself the mental ability to think about.

"I asked for video games and got clothes, actually."

The long and short of his life, now that he thinks about it. Doesn't matter what he's asked for, in the end? He's still that fuck up little kid.

It makes him huff out his own little breath of almost amusement. Doesn't hurt anymore, nothing like that does. One of the easier things to cover up with blood on his hands, and god he misses that feeling too. Maybe he wanted that fight after all, it was better than feeling carved out and made of stone.

_Yeah, Loc, I get you._

Thinks to himself as Felix begins on the medical tape to secure the gauze around Locus's wounds.

  


Information freely given. Surprised, Locus acts quickly to store that away in his internal folder. That doesn't mean it detracts from the moment, however, and he breathes out another entertained sound right along with the one Felix makes.

It strikes him, then, that this is a person. Someone with a past, with stories that make up who he is and how he became that way. Locus knows a little bit. At least from Felix's time in the UNSC and onward, but even that is broken down into bits and pieces. Just how many friends had the guy had in basic training? What did he do between bounties, back when they worked that particular job? What planet did he grow up on?

The realization daunts him, in a way. But more than that, it's _interesting_. Lacking simple necessities like the internet, or even so much as a book to occupy his time, the idea that Felix could hold his own stories, his own humanity, is an intriguing one.

Are they allowed to talk about those sorts of things? Locus isn't sure what he would label them as, now. "Friends" still sounds _odd_.

Actually, maybe he should just leave it.

Felix is a person, after all, not some source to cure his boredom. How would Locus feel if the other man started to pry?

Well.

Locus might not mind it, really. They're going to die there, after all. Maybe dying with the knowledge that someone else knew him— _knew him_ , every part—wouldn't be such a terrible thing.

When one hand is fully bandaged up and Felix moves on to the next, Locus retracts it and settles is against his thigh. The other one still stings with each tight press, but Felix continues about this task with calculating ease.

"What do you know how to cook?"

The man had mentioned it earlier. He plans to take care of dinner and apparently only knows how to make one thing.

  


That's better, the conversation moved onto a more comfortable subject, even if this one still stems from his childhood, no memories of this have caused him harm. Felix covets this memory, actually, one of the only things he doesn't think he'll ever forget no matter what.

His mother used to cook them all their favorite dishes, at least once a week. With a household of seven, it was an easy thing to accomplish, even as one fell away the tradition always stood.

"Grilled cheese and tomato soup."

The words flow from his lips as they quirk up into something like a smile. Not that he really understands how to do that anymore, just _smile_. It's always a smirk or a grin, never something simply pleasant. Though it's probably the nostalgia that hits him, making him think of actually nice things for once.

His life wasn't always blood and hate and money and revenge. Sometimes he forgets that.

"Best and only thing I ever learned to make."

It was his favorite, as a kid, so he'd asked his mom to teach him as soon as he'd been tall enough to reach the stovetop. She'd done so with a smile and he helped out, every Wednesday (middle, middle, middle -- always stuck just there out of reach), so his mom could have a break.

It was the only good thing he can ever remember doing for her.

Water under the bridge, though. She's long gone.

Felix manages to finish up bandaging Locus's left hand just as his thoughts fall shut on the matter and he's quick to stand. Puts away all the medical supplies and takes a quick mental catalogue of them. Still had plenty, just in case Felix still wants that fight later on.

  


If any remnant of anger towards that _godforsaken slipspace engine_ lies dormant beneath Locus' skin, it melts away with that smile.

He stares at it for much longer than is appropriate. Because it's new. Something he's never seen before. Not on this man's face. A little tilt of lips. The curve reaches behind brown irises, brightening them.

It leaves Locus, ex-merc, ex-military, brilliant (let's be honest here) tactician, absolutely dumbstruck.

Felix stands and grey eyes follow like he's the only light left in a dark room. Ridiculous to think, but the thought slaps him regardless. Standing, himself, Locus tucks away this other important piece of information into that inner manilla folder—grilled cheese and tomato soup.

Resists the urge to flex his fingers. It would hurt, and that would be nice, but there is a high probability it will mess up the work Felix has just put in.

Instead, Locus takes a step closer to the other man. Doesn't pay attention to their height difference, how his breadth and pose practically tower over his partner. Felix has never acted like that bothered him, anyways. Has always stood near.

Has always seemed taller than he actually is.

Before they leave, Locus pauses in the doorway of the tiny medbay. Encompasses it. Tugs on the hem of a heather grey tee.

"Felix."

He makes a point to meet the other man's eye.

Hesitates.

"Thank you."

Then breezes past him, towards the kitchen.


	8. Scene VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the delay! This scene ended up being about twice as long as any of the previous ones, so editing took a while! Also my partner and I are looking to move soon, so for the time being you can expect new chapters to come out once a week (Fridays).
> 
> I'll respond to previous comments as soon as possible! Thank you again for all the kind words. 💚🧡

_Fuck yes_ , how many days has it been since Felix has laid eyes on this sweet clear gold? So very many, and too many, and was Locus _hiding this?_

Certainly not to have all to himself, Felix would've sniffed it out a mile away with all the time they've been spending together recently. Maybe he'd stowed it away just to make sure Felix wouldn't drink himself into a stupor as soon as they got stranded. Probably for the best, even if he's a little miffed off about it now.

No matter, Felix found it so he wins ( _hah_ , take that, bitch).

"Locus," he meanders into the rec room with a manic grin on his lips, elongating his partner's name in some dumb sing-song fashion that's sure to grab the guy's attention and alert him to just exactly what Felix could be up to.

Good, he wants Locus to know that he's about to bogart this whole bottle.

"I found your secret stash and now it's all mine."

In his other hand, however, Felix is definitely carrying two glasses and under that arm is lodged some fruity juice cocktail that they can use as a mixer. 

Well, he only brought it to see if Locus could be good enough to give a pity drink, that's all. Not because drinking by yourself in the vast nothingness of space is way more lame than drinking by yourself in a shitty apartment. At least there he couldn't get morose and jettison himself out into the pitch.

He needs a spotter, is all.

"We should make an Uncharted drinking game, in which I drink and you still look for those dumb fucking treasures."

Proceeds to plop himself down with a satisfying crunchy squeak onto his customary beanbag chair, already setting to making himself a drink.

  


Part of who Locus has become, he thinks, is a calendar. He's always been good with numbers and reasoning. They stick to his brain like gum in a kid's hair, and in a way, just keeping track of the days spent stranded in their careening metal coffin— _The Attie_ —soothes him.

Five and a half months. It's been nearly _half a year_ with no one to keep him company other than the hum of the air scrubbers, a comms system that he still checks daily, and the man who comes striding into the room with a rather large bottle in hand and a lilt to the way he speaks his name.

It's that last fixture, he fully believes, that has kept him sane.

Well. Not the bottle, but the man holding it.

With a grunt, Locus lifts himself up from his prone position on the floor. It's Saturday, a weekend, so they hadn't trained that morning and he'd been sneaking in a few (hundred) crunches while biding his time before seeking out his partner for something to do.

It turns out he doesn't have to exert so much effort.

Felix has officially found the alcohol.

To say he _found it_ implies Locus had hidden it. Not true. Locus had simply stored it in a dark location behind a few other unmarked crates of equal size. What had prompted Felix to go digging around the cargo hold is beyond him, but logically the treasure hunt had stemmed from boredom, which Locus, at this point, understands _viscerally_.

"It's ten in the morning," he says flatly, striding over towards the television while Felix drops himself into a beanbag chair with no amount of grace.

No part of him hesitates to follow suit. He settles slowly, mouth twisting in that typical frown he gets every time he suffers this damned chair. He could commandeer the extra one set aside by the viewing window, but for some reason that doesn't feel as companionable, and _for some reason_ Locus has decided he cares about that sort of thing.

Lips straightening into an even line, he turns his head towards the other man and raises a questioning eyebrow.

  


_It's ten in the morning_ , what a fucking snob.

Felix has that thought and it blares around his head like a siren as he settles into his chair, getting cozy and arranging the drinking accoutrements in the correct order, totally not hiding the extra glass around his chair so hopefully Locus hadn't seen it.

"In the endless black of space, it's ten a.m.? You're reaching there, bud."

Still, there's an amicable grin on his face because he found the booze and nothing is better than a long, easy drink on a weekend after being stranded in space for half a year. His mouth is already watering for that buzzy, electric feeling that's going to be sliding down his spine in just moments.

Felix wriggles excitedly, not bothering to stifle his pleased reaction.

"I could dim the lights, if you want some ambiance."

Locus settles down beside him and the pleasant body heat from the man feels like a comfort after all this time. It's nice to know there's another breathing, living person floating around in this tin can with him.

Okay, maybe Loc can have a drink, after all.

Not that Felix mixes him one just yet, only sets about fixing up his own first and foremost. He's going to get _fucking blitzed_.

  


One interesting thing he's learned about himself in all this time: Locus does, in fact, know how to talk to someone. Or, well, some one. Felix, in particular. Not that he's chatty by any means, but that first nervous attempt to reach out and seek company even just a couple months ago, has given way to an easiness in the air anytime Felix speaks.

The second glass doesn't escape his notice. That Felix would sidle it away also doesn't escape his notice.

Always a game with this man.

In the heat of battle, or while Locus was trying to focus all his attention on a mission, this had often come as an annoyance. Felix never seemed to take life or death situations seriously.

The man would no doubt call it part of his charm.

Well, here, with no outside stimuli save for distant blinking stars, it is, in its own way, a bit charming. To have these bits and pieces of information tossed into the air with no real reason beyond a passing whim. It's stimulating. Makes Locus think.

"I did not," he begins, watching lithe hands mix a drink. _One_ drink. "have a secret stash. They were simply left in storage."

Nearly 800 bottles of various liquors—tequila, vodka, rum, and a mix of both red and white wines—to be exact. They could drink every other day for the rest of their short-lived lives and have a surplus. It looks like Felix found the tequila.

His raised brow finally finds the time to lower itself. A more honest look crosses his features—interest.

Tequila has always been his favorite, after all.

"No need for ambiance. What are the rules?"

Waves toward the game console.

Then, maybe because Felix is rubbing off on him a bit, or maybe because Locus likes exercising his newfound humanity every now and then, his grey eyes go pointedly droll and he says, in an equally monotonous voice,

"If we drink every time you get shot, I'll be dead in an hour."

  


Okay so a little snark back never hurt anybody, right? Felix was definitely a fine purveyor of that sort of thing, but to hear it come from Locus will always and forever be, hilarious. Mostly because the way he goes about it for sure, that droll, monotonous sense of humor is something Felix gets -- half the time whatever is said doesn't even have to be funny, it's just _the way_ it's said.

Locus has always had it in him, Fi has seen it a few times before, but they were few and far between. Now it's still that way, but it feels kinda nice to have that comradery. To joke back and forth with someone again.

Ah, stupid thoughts that hold no ground here. Felix wants to be drunk like eight hours ago. The drink he's mixed for himself is immediately brought to his lips and a long, slow gulp is pressed down his throat.

He pulls the glass away with a pleased sigh. It's fucking strong as hell, but that's just the way Felix likes it.

"Maybe that's what I want, huh? You're the one that hid all the alcohol in the first place, ya dickhead."

Still said with a grin as Felix shoots a challenging look Locus's way. He knows the guy didn't tell him about it on purpose, but why wait so damn long? Maybe he forgot, actually, still getting over being more machine than man probably didn't lend too well to the drinking thing in the first place.

Whatever, time to get fucked up and play some shitty games.

"Okay rules though," Felix starts up the game, and maybe might slide the extra cup over closer to Locus. Because the guy made him laugh. Good boy status achieved.

"Every time Drake says a one liner, for sure."

Felix takes another long drink as the intro sequence rolls around.

"Every time you find a treasure. And uh ..."

He trails off then, thinking of some more things that won't actually kill them if they start getting into the game of it.

  


"And every time the enemy loses you in _improbable_ cover," he finishes succinctly, lips twitching in what might actually be amusement.

Watching Felix is like watching a drama unfold. The way he moves about, some chaotic method that Locus is slowly coming to learn. He turns on the game and is already drinking at the intro scene before Locus can fully process the subtle gesture of a second glass pushed delicately his way.

He picks up the tequila and mixer, makes his own drink (more tequila than not, honestly), and presses the glass to his lips for one good gulp. It burns all the way down and he hums at the sensation.

Why hasn't he done this sooner?

If he's honest with himself, it had slipped his mind. What with fixing the navigation system, attempting to learn rocket science through osmosis alone, relearning who he is, and coming to a comfortable lull in a strangely satisfying relationship between him and his partner—

Yeah, he'd gotten a bit distracted.

Felix doesn't seem to mind, however. Not really. He shoots out wildly untrue remarks, but does so with a smile. That wide grin, the one that reaches his eyes. The one Locus has come to covet, in a way.

It's been a long time since he's imagined himself as being the sort of person who could do that. Who could make someone grin.

"And I didn't hide it," he says, taking another long drink. The only thing that would make this moment better would be some much-needed nicotine.

"It's catalogued in the manifest I made."

  


" _'Catalogued in the manifest'_ , you're such a piece of shit."

Felix doesn't even try to censor himself, nope two big gulps of hard liquor and he's off to the races already, good luck keeping up, Loc. You're going to need it.

Laughing to himself, at himself and even a little at the man beside him, Felix allows himself to fully relax for the first time since they'd crash landed (only without said crash) in the middle of nowhere. Actually, it's been longer than that, hasn't it?

Felix sits back for a second as he lets his game load up, takes another drink, this one slower than the first two, and just thinks long and hard about it all for a moment. It's been probably a few good years since he's just let himself be _him_. Since they were back on Earth, probably, shacked up with Siris doing piddly little bounty hunts.

God, he remembers that time at the bar, with 'the unicorn of bar girls'. That's how he'd worded it, right? Bisexual gal and she'd even had some nice guy friend she'd been telling him about. And really Felix is sure he only remembers because Locus had pulled him away just in the nick of time.

Or maybe it's because of the way they'd handled that whole fuck fest of a situation, honestly. How of course they came out on top, even if it was the last run Silas had done with them -- he was always so worried about his family.

Felix wonders how he's doing. Almost goes as far to say something about it when the game finally boots up his save and he's once again thrown into the life of Drake.

Straight into a fight sequence that he'd completely forgotten about. Felix fumbles with his drink, just manages to save it from spilling out onto that hideous carpet, but alas, he could not save poor Drake.

"Fucks sake, man."

Takes a drink for his own stupid fuck up, or maybe just because he can. Whatever, the liquor is delicious.

  


If his lips twitch upward just a bit more at Felix's clear and obvious frustration with his wording, well. Locus makes no comment on the matter. Simply buries the look against the rim of his glass, and watches the game with an attentive gaze.

He's seen this beginning sequence two times now. Had anticipated the gunfight immediately, though it seems Felix hadn't, if his struggle to get a good grip around the controller while also fumbling with his drink is any indication.

Locus probably shouldn't get ahead of himself, but the alcohol is good and the growing warmth in his chest is even better. He can't remember the last time he had a drink. Before Chorus, certainly. He rarely participated in leisurely activities while on a mission. Would usually wait until they got their paychecks before heading out to his typical haunt a few blocks from his apartment before settling down with a few dark lagers.

It's because of this that he notices the light-headed sensation a bit too late. He'd mixed his drink as strong as he liked it, and by the time the younger Drake rides away with his older brother on some crappy old dirtbike, Locus tips his cup up against his mouth and finds it empty.

Huh.

"Top-off?" he asks, reaching for the bottle between them.

They're supposed to be playing a game with this, or something. He should probably focus on that. Let the rhythm of this task pace him.

  


Okay so drinking games were supposed to be played along with the game, but Felix has been on too long of a dry spell to really take that to heart. Yes, he's playing the game, but also just _drinking_ , which is awesome, if he does say so himself. It's nice to just do what he wants to do, for a change.

Not that he doesn't here, really, sticks to the schedule Locus has laid out for them, but otherwise Felix just digs around through the cargo hold or takes naps. Trains in his spare time, throwing knives, strength training, cardio with the equipment that's woefully underwhelming but it gets the job done.

So yeah, he does what he wants, but he hasn't been really able to let loose, y'know?

What with the tension between him and Locus and the rampant thoughts of dying in space, blah blah blah. Boring, but ultimately it's been taking its toll. Now's really the time to just let it all out, right?

Though there's something Felix is conveniently forgetting that he can't quite put his finger on. Had he left the stove on or something?

There's a lingering thought in the back of his mind that this maybe isn't the best idea or something like that, but he's already too far ahead of himself to give half a shit about it.

Drinking is fun, the game is fun, and Locus (believe it or not) is fun. Especially when the guy's indulging him, and most especially when he's offering to pour Felix another drink. 'Top off' he says, like the cup in Fi's hand isn't actually completely empty. Whoops.

"Mhm, like 'em strong."

He isn't slurring, but his mouth has already gone dumb and lazy along with the rest of his body. Fuck if it doesn't feel amazing though, that gentle buzz flowing down his spine, flushing his skin a slight sheen of dusty pink already. Though that could be the heat in the room, and the addition of a warm body beside him.

God that sounds good too.

The cinematic stops and Felix is thrown back into the game, cutting that thought short.

  


With a nod, Locus drags Felix's cup into his hand. Notices how woefully empty it's gotten, and in no iteration of any scenario he's ever considered has Locus imagined himself _mixing a drink for his partner._ But it happens, and if the world ends because of it, neither of them are around to see it, so does it really matter?

He imagines a tree falling in a dark, empty wood, and he knows there's a saying about all that, but it's unimportant right now.

What _is_ important is mixing a proper drink.

He starts with the tequila. Fills the glass nearly half full. Accomplishing this task requires a considerable amount of focus. He wants to get it right. The neck of the bottle tilts at a specific angle, allowing for a more controlled flow of liquor. Once he's satisfied with the amount— _strong_ —he sets the bottle down again and grabs the mixer to fill in the rest.

Sets the glass down next to Felix's right side, far enough away from his foot to ensure it doesn't get knocked over, but still well within reach. Mixes his own, though with far less care.

"Did you know I prefer tequila, or was that a coincidence?"

Locus is not, and will never be, the sort of person who engages in filler conversation. Only, with his head starting to fill up with cotton and his body getting progressively warmer, pretty much anything that comes to mind doesn't exactly _feel_ like filler conversation.

He would be concerned about this if he were any less buzzed.

Instead, he simply turns his head enough to watch Felix with a relaxed, open gaze. Takes note of the dusty flush already covering the man's pale skin.

  


Out of the corner of his eye, Felix keeps track of movement, though only looks close enough to make sure Locus is filling his glass first, before attention is back on the screen. It's not a fight scene, which _boring_ , but it's something different and Felix is sure Drake is about to get his ass handed to him by his wife so that's pretty hilarious.

It's emotional blah blah, but what does it say about him that he's starting to find characters on a screen to be pretty? Hell, Elena Fisher is the last woman he's ever going to see and she's _in the game_. That's weird, right?

Still, she's pretty, and would totally be his type. Long blonde hair, fair features, soft on the inside, but adventurous and take-no-shit on the outside. He sighs, somewhat listless at the idea of never having another woman in his bed, but it doesn't feel as empty as it had all those weeks ago when Locus had brought it up to begin with.

Huh. Weird.

Anyway, he's distracted again by the sound of his drink being placed close, and Locus asking him a question. Felix takes his eyes off the screen then to look at his partner and he _does not like_ what he finds.

Because Locus is certainly _lounging_ back in his stupid little beanbag chair, something Felix has never before witnessed in his life. The guy's giving him some kinda look, just relaxed maybe, but it's wide open. The storm cloud grey of Locus's eyes doesn't look so stormy and broody all the sudden, just interested in Felix's reaction.

Fi has to turn away, blink the image from behind his eyes as he gives his response.

"Coincidence."

It wasn't.

Schmoopy scene over, Felix wriggles back down into his seat to start back in on the action. Takes a long, deep draw from his refreshed cup and almost keels over. It's actually stronger than he'd made the first one, believe it or not, but it's damn good and definitely setting him off in the right direction.

"S'good."

It's all but a mumble as Felix focuses back on the game.

  


For a moment, Felix looks at him like he's something new. Or, adversely, it could be the effects of alcohol slowing his reactions. Regardless, the gaze lingers, and when he turns away with a blink, an answer, and a compliment ( _good_ ), Locus hasn't been left with enough information to make anything of it.

There isn't anything to discern, really, so he doesn't concern himself with picking apart Felix's every reaction. He's a little too buzzed himself for such a thing.

With a sigh, Locus settles back even deeper into the hideously scrunchy chair. Which, oddly enough, doesn't feel so awful at the moment. Tequila loosens his limbs until he feels more at home with the way the seat forces a relaxed posture.

Movement, however, shuffles too-tight clothes, his black shirt riding up his stomach just the slightest bit. He's too warm to notice such a thing. Too absorbed in a game he's seen inside and out at least twice now.

This is nice.

The realization comes slowly, lazily, and with no accompanying panic.

Watching video games, drinking, settling himself near a warm, pleasant Felix, is actually _nice_.

"Oh," he says after a moment, perking up when a small flash of light flickers dimly across the map. He points at it.

"Treasure, twenty degrees to your left."

Glances over at Felix with a playfully raised eyebrow and an airy command.

"Drink."

As if they haven't been doing that this entire time.

  


It's easier than it should be to let himself be fully immersed back into the game. It isn't like he hasn't done the same thing over and over again within it, but fuck all if Felix still doesn't find it amusing. He's going completionist on all difficulties and he's getting damn good at it. 

Still doesn't remember where all the treasures are, because that hasn't been his job for a long time now, but he's alright with that too. Likes the feeling of Locus beside him, especially as he feels the man practically sink into the crunchy chair beside him.

And that would be a thing to think about, if Felix wasn't already one and a half super strong drinks in, how Locus is actually relaxing. A marvel, really, to see any stone wall fall before him, but to know that it's also partially because of him? Well, that'd definitely be something to think about.

As it is, however, all Felix can really pay attention to is the way his character moves and his own arm pinging to his drink every so often. Which is all good, just the same. He doesn't need to think here, after all, doesn't even hardly need to pay attention to the screen because he's got Locus pointing out treasures.

Twenty degrees, huh?

Felix turns Drake exactly that, even half inebriated as he is, and finds some kinda shitty pride in that. He's still got it, boys. Grins to himself at the thought, even as he drags the drink up to his lips to take one (okay maybe two) long swallows.

God at this rate the whole bottle's going to be gone in an hour.

Challenge accepted.

"Yeah yeah, eagle eye cherry over there."

Is that a reference to something? Felix doesn't actually know, just felt right to say.

"How much can you bench?"

Doesn't know where that question came from either, it just flapped from his lips like it had the right to be out in the world. But he's curious, actually, because those are the same muscles that would lend to climbing around like a monkey, Nathan Drake style.

That and fingers of steel.

  


Is that ... a reference to something?

Locus doesn't know, has never been incredibly well versed in half the topics that brew in Felix's mind. The question is left forgotten by the roadside (so to speak) when Felix asks one of his own.

It comes completely unexpected. So much so that, even heavily buzzed as he is, Locus tries to place what could have brought it up. He can't backtrack enough.

"Uh," he begins, dumbly. Blinks over at the man, spotting the tail end of an inwardly amused grin.

The look is contagious. Though Locus doesn't smile, himself, he feels a lightness lifting weight from his chest. Casts his eyes to the ceiling for a moment, seeking an accurate response.

"Three hundred and twenty, on an average day."

One where he isn't trying to push himself to the limit just to see exactly what his body is capable of.

The question grasps his hand and takes him down a trail of similar, though somewhat different, thoughts. Locus sweeps his gaze down Felix's body. Lingers on the musculature of lean arms. No, the other man isn't built for strength like Locus is. He was born with a wide frame, dense bones. His genetics leant to it.

But there's certainly something to be said about the way Felix moves, some quick and graceful thing capable of pushing his weight into every punch.

Dwelling on this, Locus doesn't realize he's staring.

  


_Holy shit, really?_

"Holy shit, really?"

Felix can't help the way that particular answer takes his mind completely off of the game in front of him, and all his not unexceptional attention turns straight to Locus. Because that? Is a fuck ton.

Like actually, Felix only weights about half that, and the thought of someone being able to actually bench two of him? Well it hadn't ever crossed his mind, sure he's seen big guys before, but they weren't his type so he didn't dwell on it. Not to say that Locus is his type, but he's the only man he's ever let close enough to see any of his vulnerable spots.

And shit, yeah, he knew the guy was strong, but to put it into numbers is kinda insane.

Felix doesn't realize he's staring, sizing the guy up, until he notices that Locus is staring right back at him. Probably doing the same, and it shouldn't make the miniscule flush at his cheeks darken, but somehow it does.

It's the liquor, definitely that and nothing else. Not the quake of heat bubbling up in his gut at the thought of ... 

_Nope, no thoughts here._

Felix turns back to the game, doesn't resume playing because there's suddenly a drink in his hand that he hadn't anticipated, but in one swift swallow it's empty again.

"Fill me up."

He waggles the glass at Locus, not looking at the guy.

  


The expletive is better than any compliment Locus could have received. Mostly because he wasn't expecting a compliment to begin with. He hadn't done anything to warrant praise. Had simply stated a fact.

Felix turns to him and very clearly takes a long, lingering moment to size him up. Turns a darker shade of red.

Which is ... interesting.

Locus allows the other man to stare, because he's doing the exact same thing, and maybe a bit because the thought of Felix being _impressed_ by him is a little—

Well.

He doesn't really know how to place it.

Like he's just been handed the paycheck after a difficult yet satisfying job. It makes him relax, knowing that something about him can be picked apart by the other man and not found wanting.

Without protest, Locus takes the offered cup and picks up the bottle of tequila to mix Felix another drink. They've already drained over half of it and it's not even noon. Despite his earlier admonishment, Locus doesn't really mind. _Time is a human construct._ He's certain he's heard Felix say that before.

He sets the glass down in the same spot, drink as strong as the last.

Feeling more liquor than bone, Locus reaches his arms above his head for a languid stretch. Settles more deeply into the beanbag chair with a pleased hum passing between slightly parted lips.

"Why knives?"

A thoughtless question, but it's been a curiosity of his for a long time, and he finds no reason not to ask it, here.

  


"They're silent."

An easy enough answer, one that comes swift and unthinkingly as Felix meanders about in the game. He can't actually see super straight at the moment so _meandering_ is probably the best way to put it.

"Easy to conceal, lightweight, gives you a one up in a fist fight if the guy doesn't know you got it."

Actually the list could go on, but Felix doesn't mention that he likes to see a little blood every now and then. Likes the way he can see himself winning just with a few drops. It fuels him, somehow, the smell of it, the slick between his fingers, just how visceral and feral it is.

Which is weird, yes, and he's known that for a long time now, but it doesn't bother him anymore.

Fuck what he would give to see Tucker laying in a pool of his own blood right now. Also not exactly normal to want, but Felix has never been anything but a monster, even under the humanity there's a dead spot on his soul that he doesn't even try to make excuses for.

That's not to say he doesn't want anyone to know about how it gets him all hot and bothered. Just like _all this alcohol is doing right now_ , Jesus.

Felix wriggles in his seat, for once cursing the inevitable squeaky crunch of it.

  


Humming an acknowledgement, Locus sets about making another drink for himself. Should probably slow down, actually, but when he really thinks about it, he finds no reason to actually do so.

They're both locked in a metal cage, lost in a great, vast nothingness. They're going to die there.

Why does he have to be sober for the duration of it?

The answer is simple: he doesn't.

"And the blood," he supplies, waiting for that particular foot to drop, and a bit surprised when it doesn't. Because, yes, Locus knows. He's fought with Felix long enough to see a change in the man whenever a little red is spilled in a fight. Had seen it just a few months ago. That wild light, manic grin, when their anger fueled fist fight had gotten bloody.

Tipping his head a bit, Locus points his chin toward Felix and gives him a considering look. Like an appraiser on one of those antique shows his father used to watch. It isn't troublesome that his partner gets riled up at the sight of spilled blood. Locus has already considered the possibilities. In their line of work (or, well, what had been their line of work), it could easily be considered a good thing. Instead of wearing down in the middle of a fight, one quick slice of metal against flesh could give Felix a second wind.

It points to deeper psychological problems. A blank disregard for life. Inconsideration for where that blood comes from.

Locus doesn't care.

If anything, this strange new connection fostered between them over the course of several months only drives Locus to feel almost _pleased_ that Felix has something he can find such enjoyment with.

He flicks his gaze down toward the other man's thigh when the beanbag chair squeaks under the press of movement. Takes a long draw on his glass, throat itching for a cigarette.

Looks to the television again, watching Felix wander around the map with no real sense of where he's going. Drake is in Scotland now. The view is lovely. It's the last ocean Locus will ever see.

  


_"And the blood."_

Locus adds this little tidbit himself, because of course he knows. Knows Felix better than anyone ever has, and now ever will. It should feel invasive or something, someone understanding that part of him. It isn't like he's really hidden it, but also Locus is just one of those people, y'know?

Kinda like Felix. He can look at you and see your insides, what makes you tick and how to use that against you. He hasn't ever done it to Felix before, not that he knows of anyway, but it's still a little creepy.

But it's Locus, after all. The only person who Felix has ever felt known by, anyway. So what if he knows a little bit of everything? It isn't like they're not the last people who're ever going to be in contact with each other. So creepy, but kinda refreshing, as it is. For Felix to know that he's going to die _known_. Going to die with a little bit of Isaac Gates left in him, because he'd known Samuel Ortez, after all.

"Yeah, and the blood."

Speaks the words flippantly after his own little internal monologue about how he actually doesn't care if Locus knows.

Doesn't stop his own fingers from moving across the controller, doesn't even give him pause, actually. Could be the drink, but who cares. They've got enough alcohol to last them for the rest of their lives, if it makes everything this easy Felix will just be drunk all the time.

Okay, that's a lie.

He wriggles in the chair again, shimmies down and sets about crossing and uncrossing his legs uncomfortably. It's hot, his skin itches, he knows his face (hell his whole body at this point) is probably lobster red with how _'a;lkfwjeflk'_ his insides feel.

Drinking always gets to him like this, makes his mind float away, makes everything just that much easier to take, but Felix had conveniently forgotten the other side effects that go along with it. And watching the man (because Locus is just that here, a man) splay out beside him to stretch long, lean muscle.

How nuts does he have to be that _Locus_ is starting to look like a meal?

It's just the drink.

Felix's tongue flicks out over his lips to wet them, swallowing suddenly a little harder to do.

  


If Felix had lied or avoided the statement, that would mean something. The strange bond would have broken, or at least taken a few steps back. Locus does not tolerate being lied to. But that doesn't happen. The other man simply acknowledges this statement of character and Locus nods to himself, satisfied.

What is not satisfying, however, is the incessant sound of beanbag chair stuffing crunching around while Felix fidgets.

He ignores it at first. When that proves difficult, he turns it into a bit of a game, taking a sip of his drink every time Felix rearranges. Much more of that and he might die of alcohol poisoning.

With a raised brow and a pointed side-eye toward his partner, Locus asks, "What's wrong?"

Gaze trails along Felix's clavicle. It's red from the liquor. Always an interesting thing to witness, though Locus can't say he's seen Felix drunk many times. Briefly, in small intervals, before the man would skitter away with some new, (objectively) pretty person beneath his arm, sure—but Locus hasn't ever been the one to take the full brunt of a drunk Felix.

Is he always so fidgety like this?

  


God but the guy is just completely different now, right?

Felix chances a glance at his partner out of the corner of his eye. Can't help but catalogue all the things that just _weren't_ before.

First off those stupid tiny clothes, he gets it, okay, men the size of Locus just weren't common by any means. He was tall, freakishly so, and broad, freakishly so, and he was built like a brick shithouse. Normal clothes weren't going to cut it and it's not his fault (really) that nothing aboard the vessel came even close to fitting.

Still, that didn't excuse him from flaunting that around.

But moreso just the overall look of him was something Felix hadn't ever looked at before. The storm cloud eyes, dark skin, midnight hair that has always been covered up by his helmet for the most part. Now with it cropped so short (even if it's growing out steadily) it's almost easy to just look at Locus like he's a different man completely.

Not to mention the way he acts. Fuck, Felix is almost certain he's been close to getting a _laugh_ from the guy a time or two.

Why couldn't he just be normal Locus so this wouldn't be happening.

Not that this version is bad, the opposite of that.

Now he's even going so far as to ask if anything's wrong, probably all the wriggling around that Felix is doing tipping him off. But that's the thing, though.

Nothing about anything feels wrong at all and that's _weird_ and way too much for Felix's drunk mind to take. Without being more drunk, that is.

So bottoms up, he takes another draw from his drink, really enjoying how strong it is and how it flushes him electric and energetic. This is definitely why he goes fuck happy when imbibing. Feels like he could take on the world and _win_ , and it's with that heady thought in mind that he glances over with a wicked smile.

"I'm peachy keen, actually. Really wishing for a bar fight or some dumb shit like that. Been a long time since I felt this good."

Plus any outlet for the buzzing fire underneath his skin would be much appreciated. Felix flexes his hands around the controller, turns back to the game to see if he can get into a brawl there any time soon.

  


Restless. That's what this is.

Locus, who isn't one for much outward expression, feels his lips twist in something like a half-smirk, eyebrows lower to leave his eyes hooded.

A fight.

Of course that's what Felix is itching for. He should have guessed.

He watches the other man play the game for a long few minutes. Nurses the drink in his hand, long fingers curling around the glass. He's lost track of how many he's had, but his head swims and his face feels tight. Like maybe it's pulling in a particular way that it isn't familiar with.

_Been a long time since I felt this good._

Here. Trapped in a lost shuttle. With Locus.

Felix feels _good_ , even given the circumstances, and in his company.

"That could be arranged," he offers, some smart look in his eye when he cuts it to the side. A fight? He might be a bit too sloshy for something like that. But the alcohol tastes good and warms his blood enough to make the prospect of _teasing_ sound applicable.

  


And it's that stupid look on Locus's face that causes Felix, who had indeed found a fight in the game, to die for the millionth time. He'd be okay with it if it wasn't such a peculiar look to begin with, distracting in its ease, some little smirk that comes around once in a lifetime for the guy.

It's all in his head, this sudden ... whatever it is, but this Locus feels different even from the one Felix has come to learn in their months on the ship.

He feels, even just the room around them, easy-going. Light, even. Like he's not dwelling on anything in that big ole head of his. He's just maybe enjoying the company and the booze and the stupid game in front of them. Interesting to think about, that maybe this all won't be so bad if they have some moments like this.

Just as Felix finishes that thought, however, Locus throws him another curveball with some teasing little poke of a remark and a sharp look in his eye.

Felix dies again, right after respawn.

"I'm officially too drunk for this."

He leans back, exasperated with the hand holding the controller dangling off the side of the chair while his other arm flops up over his eyes, shielding his (suddenly) sensitive self from that prodding look. Not that Locus means it that way, but that's how it feels nonetheless.

"Where has my tolerance gone? Now I'mma pussy."

A pout is left unhidden behind his arm as he conveniently brushes off the offer for a little tussle. Just a joke anyway, but there's no way he's looking to get his ass kicked at this point in time, thanks very much.

  


Interesting.

The other man moves in such a fluid way, one Locus has always, somewhere in the back of his mind, tucked away in a hidden little corner, appreciated. Limbs always so expressive. Graceful, even when he melts and shuffles and flings an arm over his eyes.

Felix dies twice, and that's what it takes to admit he's no longer equipped to handle the game properly.

An obvious statement, but it's amusing to see these harmless frailties.

Locus laughs, a light thing, and sinks back into his own chair, smothering the soft sound with another sip of his drink. The tequila burns all the way down his throat, into his stomach.

He can't stop looking at Felix. The warmth in his chest is the interesting part. Locus isn't sure who they are to each other anymore, what they've become. They aren't colleagues because there's no mission to accomplish, and they've never really been friends, except, maybe, that's what they're turning into.

It would be nice. To have a friend before he dies.

"It's been nearly six months," he offers, siding with Felix even when the man doesn't side with himself. That much hasn't changed. They've always looked out for each other in that way.

"You're allowed to be a lightweight."

Not that he can say much himself. Locus has officially had enough alcohol to make him flushed and too-hot. Enough to make him look at Felix and think the word _friend_. To make that prospect not seem so frightening. Like maybe he could be worthy of it.

"I have a different game we could play, actually," he says, while reaching forward with a gentle hand to grasp at the dangling controller. He pulls it from Felix's fingers and sets it carefully on the ground.

"One involving less hand-eye coordination."

Raises a brow.

  


Who the fuck gave Locus the right to do this to him, hm? Who reached down a cosmic hand and said _let there be light_ inside the guy's cold, mechanical heart for him to act so careless?

Because Felix wants to meet that being and punch them right in the fucking mouth.

Locus laughs, it's a little thing, quickly smothered by the cup in his hand, Felix understands the sounds as they happen and it makes him want to look, want to watch the other man, pick apart each reaction. Was he doing it for some other purpose? What could that _possibly_ be? They're stranded up there, just the two of them. There can't be anything but genuine reaction -- and that Felix understands first hand.

Has Locus always been this man, somewhere deep down hidden by war and blood and pain. That doesn't make sense, but maybe it does, fuck all if he knows anything anymore. Plus being drunk doesn't do Felix any favors.

Still, he lets the controller be pried easily from his lax grip, doesn't mind it, even though the tug of Locus's hand is undeniably gentle for whatever reason. He's never treated Felix like this, with kid gloves, or maybe it's not like that. Once again, drunk equals no favors in the thinking department.

"Does it involve more booze? If so, I'm in."

Doesn't question it as he might usually, _you know of a game?_ , just accepts the little peaceful branch extended out to him because he can and he wants to. Plus the curiosity of what Locus could possibly have up his sleeve is too strong to resist.

Felix does, however, uncover his face and peer over at Locus through slit eyes, face still flushed and expression maybe a little more open than he means it to be.

  


Nothing really makes their inevitable crawl towards starvation and death necessarily worth it, but the look Felix pins on him after a painless agreement to participate comes surprisingly close. Eyelids dropped, irises hazy with liquor giving soft brown a softer shade. Face red with the heat of tequila. Open. Interested. Real.

That last part is what does him in.

Locus has spent a very large portion of his life around this man. In those years, he's come to decipher many of Felix's quirks and tells. Knows there are layers beneath layers—vivid enjoyment of a good fight, hedonistic behavior, blatant disregard for human life. All of that being the most prominent. But there are gentler parts tucked beneath. Ones he hadn't seen for a long time, not since before they were stranded.

Bringing in two glasses. Focused fingers expertly taking care of Locus' injured hands. Leaving Chorus _because Locus wanted to_.

No, Felix isn't the monster he tries to make himself out to be. He's just a person full of complexity.

Pleased with this assessment, and with the look thrown his way, Locus bodily turns in his chair, long legs brushing against the side of Felix's own.

"It does," he says, bringing up a hand to gesture with.

"I'll make a statement. You determine whether it's true or false. If you're correct, I take a drink. If you're wrong, you take a drink."

It was something he'd seen at that bar near his apartment, many times. Groups of people playing party games—amusement and fun and humanity, things he typically only ever observed from the outside.

"Sound good?"

  


Surprisingly enough, Felix is actually well acquainted with this game. Had spent time in the army dicking off on their shore leave, getting to know his troop, or at the bar trying to get a girl (or guy, or multiples of either/or) into bed. He knew the ins and outs of doing whatever it took to get what he wants from people.

So what does Locus want of him, here? Anything? Or adversely, what did Felix want to get from Locus? Anything?

Not that he can think of, actually. All he wants is to keep drinking and maybe see some of these little details that this new person has to give up. See all he can see, just to _know_.

"Alright."

Another easy agreement because there's nothing else he can really do, doesn't want to put up a fight for it, this is Locus actually putting himself in the conversation for once. How could Felix pass up that opportunity? Trick question, he can't.

Though he does find himself flushing with a renewed wave of heat as he's touched, for the first time in six months and even further still. Who's the last person who'd touched him with anything other than malice or 'companionship'? He doesn't remember and that's really saying something here, because Felix _likes tail, okay_.

Still, it's just a general reaction. Nothing specific about it. Nope.

"You go first, game master."

Felix is half turned to Locus now, though, all attention on the guy in front of him.

  


Garnering the other man's attention turns out to be ... not quite overwhelming but not exactly not that, either. Locus is more used to side-eyes and quickly flashed grins. To movement, thoughtless quips, conversation happening in snippets, and when not, with eyes averted to something more interesting in the room.

Here, Felix turns to him, bringing to Locus' notice the contact of their legs, and plants a fully attentive gaze right on his face.

Okay, so. It's been a few months and he's gotten more accustomed to speaking as a person, exploring his own humanity, but he wasn't exactly prepared for _this_.

Inebriated as he is, it's still difficult to stamp down the nervous feeling when this new, sharper attention digs into him and pins him to the spot. Without armor or a mask of sobriety, Locus feels the look more sincerely. He swallows. Reaches up to press his thumb against the uppermost corner of his scar. Drops his hand soon after.

"Okay."

Thinks, for a moment. The point of the game, as he'd noticed from watching (he's never actually played it with someone before) is to, inevitably, get the other person more drunk than you. He'd never really understood the appeal of that. The point of going to the bar, for him, has always been to drink at his own leisure. Though it had always seemed like an amusing social thing, and his mention of it here had been for that purpose: to amuse them, and socialize.

Still, rules are rules, and Locus dwells briefly on statements that could put him in the lead.

He clears his throat.

"I fired my first gun when I was five."

There. Something simple to start with.

  


Attention is not something that Felix wastes on people. You were either interesting enough to garner it, or you weren't, it was as simple as that. Or well, it had been with other people in the past, but with Locus it was always a little different. You don't ever fully turn your back on a predator, but you don't really look 'em in the eye either.

There was a balance there, a give and take. Neither looked too closely at each other while still knowing everything they needed to know to keep themselves on the top of the food chain. With Locus, Felix always found sharing that throne to be easy.

This is a little skewed from that, however. There's no chain here, just two people getting drunk and playing a drinking game.

Weird, but Felix had agreed fully, so he finds it's easy to turn the full brunt of his attention to the man across from him. Looking not for weakness or soft spots to get what he wants, but to simply be immersed in whatever they've got going on.

Which allows him to watch freely, as it is, and now even in his inebriated state, Felix _notices_. Catches, first, the bob of a long throat as Locus swallows, and then second the way the man reaches up to touch his own face with a tender hand. The wide 'X' of Locus's scar stands out bright at that, and Felix is reminded that he doesn't actually know how Locus got it in the first place.

Though he's glad for it, in a way. A reminder that this is still his partner, after all this time and change. It's still Sam Ortez sitting with him.

Tactical as Felix is, however, he doesn't mention it, only focuses on the way Locus clears his throat and asks the question. Or makes the statement, whatever.

"Nah, I call bullshit on that one."

Speaks flippantly with a wave of his hand, it's probably not true, anyway. Felix hadn't actually shot a gun until basic training, so that's pretty much what he's basing his answer on.

  


To have never played this before, or any drinking game for that matter, Locus is surprised when a hot shot of _success_ flies up his spine when Felix makes an incorrect assessment.

He waves his hand as if brushing the statement off, and Locus quirks a brow, something bright and pleased crossing his expression.

"Incorrect."

He nods at the other man's drink. Even goes so far as to gesture with his free hand, a quick _go ahead_.

"It was a Glock G-19," he specifies, as if giving details will lend more truth to the words.

His father had been a collector, and with a child in the house, the man had been a bit obsessed about firearm safety. Locus knew how to disassemble and clean a pistol by the age of five. Just before his sixth birthday, his father had shown him how to fire it.

The knockback had nearly thrown him on his ass.

He didn't shoot a gun again until he was a preteen, but that first taste had gotten him addicted. The weight of cool metal in his hands. The confidence of a steady posture. The power behind the shot.

He blinks at Felix, smiling some barely-there tilt to one half of his mouth, and waits his turn.

  


Huh.

That was certainly unexpected, though it's right at this point in time that he realizes he actually doesn't know much about Locus at all.

Like as a _person_ , because the guy's only just become people rather recently, in Felix's eyes. And hell, just in the way he portrays himself at all, actually. Usually the guy's a brick wall of 'fuck off' when it comes to questions about more than the weather. Even then, that could turn iffy if Felix didn't play his cards right.

Not that he tried all that hard to do such, but the point stands.

Now, however, it seems like there's a lot to uncover with this guy and maybe it kinda also seems like that might not be such a bad idea. So far as he's seen, Locus is likeable, actually. Puts up with Felix's mouth, plus, finds all the treasure, plus, can cook and doesn't complain about dishes, double plus. Is a nice drinking buddy too, actually. So yeah, alright, this could be something worthwhile after all.

"Alright so you got started young, no wonder you've got a knack for it. I call cheating, actually."

Felix takes his lick honest though, a thick, quick swig of his drink and it's starting to taste better and better, no matter that it could probably peel paint straight off the wall.

Makes it a little easier to ignore the smug little grin on Loc's lips too, the asshole. Even if it's a good look for him.

"I, however, have never held a job. Like a pedestrian job."

See how that one grabs the guy.

  


_Cheating_. The word pulls out another amused sound. A quick huff of breath. Doesn't matter that he worked very hard to understand every nook and cranny of any weapon he ever fired. Worked to understand how to take care of them (and probably ended up caring for them more than most people in his life, honestly). No, he cheated.

A refreshing way to put it, and one he answers with that quiet exhale. Entertained.

Felix makes his own statement soon after a deep draw, the man's throat bobbing while he swallows. Locus just happens to be paying enough attention to notice.

He stares for a long moment, trying to decipher any tells that Felix could be lying to him. He doesn't avert his gaze. Doesn't so much as twitch. No verbal hesitation with his words.

It sounds like a truth, but Felix can always do that when it suits him.

"Not true," he says, brows pinched together when he settles on an answer.

"You had to have worked somewhere."

Even if the thought of Felix, tactical genius, ex-bounty hunter and (ex?) mercenary, flipping burgers somewhere seems wholly improbable.

  


"Nope."

The answer is quick, with a little popped 'p' for good measure, and Felix grins like he's won something, even though he knows exactly how to lie, even to Locus. Though he isn't actually certain he's ever done it much, not to this man, at least. Usually, though, they were in dire situations which would mean death for either one of them.

Yeah, he tended to care for his own ass more than he wanted to make a fool out of the guy in front of him.

What can he say though, it's a nice ass.

"Military life for me, straight outta high school."

Follows up with a little background on it, just as Locus had, though he knows he didn't really have to. The guy would have to take his word for whatever he said, actually. Once again though, what's the point of lying here? Nothing to gain from this except knowledge and more drink in his gut.

All of which are acceptable things, yes siree.

"Drink up, loser."

Words flow from his lips as he licks them, tasting liquor and fruit juice, though his thoughts do turn toward the thought of Locus as a kid waving around a gun. How had he gotten into it so early in life? Did he come from a family of gangbangers or what? If he grew up on Earth that's really the only logical solution, to Felix, at least.

  


_Never?_

Pinched brows pull apart immediately. Locus can't help but look surprised. He's too buzzed not to show his reaction on his sleeve. Soaks up the information given to him like a sponge, and doesn't even have to think of that mental folder to know it's something that will be remembered.

Felix talks to him like a person. Expounds when it isn't necessary, like he had, but it's vastly interesting to hear. With no books or entertainment aside from a game he's seen twice over now, all they really have in that cramped ship are each other.

Not for the first time, Locus realizes he knows next to nothing about this man.

So Felix had enrolled in the UNSC straight out of high school. He's lived a military life followed by whatever kind of life they had made for themselves, and nothing in between. Was his only taste of normalcy during his childhood? Why had he enrolled to begin with? Military family?

"Interesting," he can't help but say, throwing his head back and revealing his sensitive jugular to this trained killer when he swallows down the last of what's in his glass.

Hands busy themselves with making another drink immediately after.

"I ... have never had a girlfriend."

They're on even footing now, one-to-one. Maybe he can throw Felix off with this one as well, keep himself in the running.

  


Reaction isn't something expected, really, it wasn't like anything Felix said was anything interesting. He's led a weird life, sheltered from anything civilian, actually, no big deal. And yet the way Locus's expression shifts says something different.

The guy's face opens up into something like surprise, eyes wide and expression open as he takes in the information like it means something. Like it makes him think or wonder, or something, and Felix finds his own cocky brow (raised, victorious) fall into a thing like confusion.

This whole thing was confusing, actually, the more he thought about it. So he's officially done with that. There's no ulterior motive here, because if he doesn't have one then Loc sure as shit doesn't, considering he's keeping up with the drink just as well.

And that makes a lot of sense to Felix in this moment, so he clings to that sense of security and lets himself relax once again back into the beanbag chair. Finds his gaze wandering to the long expanse of tender skin exposed to him as Locus takes a draw of his drink, draining it dry, apparently.

Eight pounds of pressure to the spine is what it takes to kill a man. It would be nothing for Felix to reach forward, uppercut to Locus's chin would do it, or he could crush the man's larynx with a well placed jab. Hell, he could sink his teeth into that vulnerable vein, get that taste of blood he's been itching for since their arrival.

Locus knows all these things just as well as Felix, and still he puts himself on display.

"Okay, I feel like this is a trick question."

Words flow from his lips, but Felix is still watching.

"Because you look like _that_ , right? But I've never seen you look at a girl, hell at anything, twice."

So now this is a pickle and that's distracting enough for Felix's expression to draw down into a thoughtful pout. His eyes narrow, however, and stare straight into Locus's face, like he could find the correct answer if he looked there hard enough.

"You had to have had a girlfri -- wait, does fucking count? As a girlfriend, I mean, you've got to have fucked a girl, right?"

  


_Because you look like that, right?_

Like what? Locus tilts his head, unsure what Felix could mean by that. He's broad and tall, sure, but scarred up and so broken on the inside it reveals itself outwardly in cold looks and flat expressions.

What does Felix see when he looks at him?

Trick question, indeed.

His partner peers at him like he can peel away Locus' skin for a better, clearer look inside. Like his thoughts will be right there, just beneath the surface, if Felix could only tear flesh and ease through blood to get to them.

Which isn't far from the truth.

The truth, in fact, is that he has had a girlfriend before. But it's more than that, too, and an attempt to dance around a piece of his past that, even with a strong mixed drink in hand, isn't something he's capable of thinking about with a clear head.

So he doesn't think about that part.

Focuses, instead, on the bewildered expression that crosses Felix's eyes. The fact that his partner has noticed Locus' disinterest with people, at least in a romantic sense. And the question posed to him, which, if he's not careful, will reveal enough information to give Felix a free pass in their game.

Even if it's asked with what seems to be surprised sincerity.

It's a strange question, though. At least to Locus. He knits his brows together and shuffles his legs just enough to brush against the other man's, though this happens unthinkingly.

"Having casual sex and having a partner are two completely different things."

Of course he's been intimate with someone. Of course he's been in a relationship. Locus wasn't carved from stone, after all. Though thinking back, he'd certainly turned himself into a statue, and is just now recovering from the effects of that.

When was the last time he'd even had sex?

The realization dawns on him that—

Yeah, it's been a long time. A _very_ long time.

Maybe Felix's questions, his doubt, isn't entirely unfounded.

  


Their legs brush again, and on any other old day it wouldn't even ping on Felix's radar, but this is a whole thing and the center of that thing revolves around Felix being actually drunk in a room (ship, quadrant of space) with one other person. A person who would not ever be receptive to how utterly _handsy_ Felix gets while drunk.

And actually who even said Felix would enjoy getting handsy with this guy, anyway?

It isn't like he's actually (objectively?) attractive and kind of funny in that weird way of his, not to mention strong enough of mind and body to keep up with Felix, or that he's saved Felix's ass more times than he can count.

Nope, even taking any of those things into account, Felix doesn't want to reach out and drag slow, intimate fingers over Locus's thigh where too small sweatpants pull and cling to thick muscle. Not a chance, he isn't even thinking about the heat of a body pressed headily up against his own, moving and breathing in sync to …

Blinking, he's pulled out of his head by Locus's voice as the guy speaks up on how dating and fucking are two separate things. Which is probably true, though it isn't like Felix knows much about that particular distinction. Sure, he's had a girlfriend before. Probably. Maybe?

It's suddenly hard to think about anything but body heat. It's really fucking hot in here.

"Okay, then yeah, you'd probably had one. Like a billion years ago, but I'd bet you at least had to have had one in like high school or something."

Felix barely gives any pause between that statement and his next, hand coming up to press the flop of hair out of his face.

"Is it like a fucking furnace in here, or is it just me and the booze talking? I'm _dying_."

Doesn't look over to Locus now, actively has to turn his body away and splay back out on the beanbag chair to get some distance, physical and otherwise, before he starts thinking himself in tighter circles.

  


_High school or something_. Close. Regardless, Felix wins this round and Locus takes a drink while the man rearranges, keeps talking like venting heat from his lungs will cool him off.

To be honest, Locus can't help the way his mind drifts. It works without conscious thought, stitching unrelated things together to create a picture that is, or is not, true. Such a phenomenon has been the source of all his internal outcomes. How he can pick apart scenarios and come up with the most logical conclusions.

Drunk as he is, the "most logical" part falls away from him, and strange things come to mind.

Like how Felix splays himself out like a cat lounging on that idiotic beanbag chair. The flush on his face. The tenor of his voice, words spoken in a cadence Locus has come to realize he finds soothing. The look of those hands, the only ones that have touched him gently in longer than he can even remember.

Like how Locus hasn't been intimate with anyone since her, and Christ, that was before he'd even been transferred to Felix's platoon back when they were in the UNSC. A decade ago, easy.

And though these meandering thoughts are typically reserved to separate locations in his mind, right now they crash into each other and Locus is left feeling _unsure_.

He's a person. And part of being a person is being a man. And part of being a man is—

Well.

Having certain needs.

Ones he hasn't even considered since before he met Felix.

Felix.

Who lounges beside him like he doesn't know _exactly_ how many men Locus has killed. Who's only ever known him with a scar, the worst parts of him, and doesn't really seem to mind it. Who connects with him, almost if by stumbling accident, in a way no one else has ever even tried.

Locus stand, suddenly, tongue sneaking out to lick drops of alcohol from his lips.

"The temperature has remained the same. But I can lower it."

Takes long-legged strides towards the doorway, where a thermostat rests on one side.

"Your turn," he says, while he knocks the temperature down a couple degrees celsius and tries to make sense of the wandering thoughts occupying his brain.

  


Like it's not even a conscious thought, Locus is up and striding his way toward the thermostat for the room. Mentions something about it, but there's no hesitation in his want to make Felix comfortable.

Or maybe he's just also feeling warm and is making it cooler for himself.

Either way, he hadn't done it until Felix mentioned something about it so it still feels like he was waiting for Felix before he made the decision to stand and bump the air on. And that doesn't actually help Felix out in any way, at this point in time, though the slight burst of cool air feels like a soothing salve.

"God, yeah."

He practically moans, body and mind not necessarily connecting together at this point in time, as he huffs out a hot puff of air and tries to sprawl out further so the cool can reach all the overheated parts of his body. Remains that way even as he cocks his head to the side to spy Locus still at the far side of the room.

"My turn though, right, uh."

Felix sets out pondering his next statement, perhaps not paying enough attention to crow in his own victory of calling bullshit on Locus's last. Of course the guy's had a girlfriend though, he wasn't an _actual_ robot.

"I was born in Jersey, on Earth."

All he can think of, brain melting into goop. He takes a drink just to have something to do with his hands, but it's more of a sip than the big gulps he'd been taking for losing in their little game. There's no pacing himself now, no he wants to reach the end of this bottle and maybe grab another if his wobbly legs can carry him to the cargo hold.

  


When the air kicks on, a cool rush breezing through the air vents scattered throughout the room, tainted with that oh-so-slight smell of _artificial_ that he's grown used to, Locus turns back just in time to catch the way Felix moves his mouth around a moan.

Thoughts blend together, and it's rather ... _unfortunate_ that Locus' is mind is already tossing around one thing in particular.

He pauses on his way back. Blinks at the man across the room because that was clearly an unfair sound to make while his brain is leaning in that particular direction. He's heard it before, plenty of times, but not in this context.

Which ... he's unsure what context they're in, actually, but Locus doesn't really have the convenient ability to stop his thoughts without outside stimuli to pull him from them.

Thankfully, Felix continues the game. Locus considers his statement while settling back in his beanbag chair. It conforms to his shape, and he allows himself to sink into it, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles.

"That sounds too conversational to be a lie."

Lolls his head to the side to watch Felix with steady grey eyes.

"So, true."

  


"Alright, how're you sober enough to think about 'sounds too conversational', you're a cheater at this game too, Loc."

Doesn't think about the words that spew from him, as long as they're 'making conversation', playing the game, whatever, then that doesn't leave much mental capacity for Felix to be thinking other thinky thoughts. Ones that certainly don't belong in the space between his ears. Ever.

He sticks his tongue out, though, because it isn't fair that Locus is built like a fucking mountain and can therefore hold liquor better than someone relatively half his size. Cheating cheater.

Felix does concede, though, and takes another gulp of his drink only to hum at the fact that it's completely empty once again. How many have they had? Four? Five? How does counting even work anymore, Felix can't tell the fingers in front of his face, how's he supposed to add them up.

Instead of dwelling on that, he leans forward to set his cup on the ground in front of him, eyes and hands not matching up for the moment as Felix moves with certainty while mixing himself another drink. Doesn't spill a drop from either drink that's swimming in his vision.

"Your turn, give it to me."

Waves vaguely in Locus's direction as he sits back, full cup in hand.

  


"Ridiculous."

Words that would typically fly through his head but not pass his lips miss a check somewhere, and Locus finds it relatively easy to speak what's on his mind.

Or, well. To a degree. Because certain thoughts have no place in the living world.

Like how it's sort of impressive how Felix can even hold the bottle upright at this point, let alone mix himself another drink. The man is smaller than him, and yes, Locus' inhibition and sobriety have both promptly flown out the window, but his "cheating" clearly derives from his stature.

It will take a bit more to get him as drunk as Felix seems to be right now.

Is it a bad thing that Locus isn't concerned by this prospect?

If he were to lower his defenses around anyone, both the best _and_ worst person to do that with would be Felix. Because on one hand, Felix is an animal. A wild thing with long, sharp teeth and an affinity for blood. Even more frightening—he's _intelligent_. Knows how to get what he wants, when he wants it. But on the other hand, Locus trusts him. Somehow, someway, there is no bone in his body that imagines Felix would ever actually harm him.

That thought would be more frightening if he wasn't so heavily buzzed.

"Alright. I have killed one hundred and thirty seven men outside of military combat."

Raises a brow in challenge.

The number is, in fact, significantly higher.

  


Wasn't he just thinking about how _hard counting is_ and here Locus is throwing him a curveball like his kill count.

It makes Felix pause and once again turn all his not unsubstantial attention toward the other man.

An impressive number, one-thirty-seven, if they're not talking about their stint in the military. It would have to encompass before the army (which, honestly, it's unlikely that Loc took a life before that -- a human one, that is) and the time between that and now, which leaves their time as bounty hunters and mercenaries.

Felix doesn't know his own count, but he knows it's sure as shit higher than that. He's accomplished that many from knife kills alone, so really it only makes sense that Locus is bluffing with that one.

Blinking for the first time in a hot minute, Felix has to reach his free hand up to rub at his eyes, one then the other, to get some moisture back in them. He always gets a little too inside his head when he's had this much to drink. Not that this little game isn't enough to hold his attention, but he's more used to a different type of distraction.

"Nah, s'more'n that."

He has officially landed into slurring territory, mouth too lazy to keep up with his brain, but Felix is sure he remains at least mostly coherent.

Goes so far as to raise his glass in cheers, he's so certain of his answer.

  


If he were any less of the killer he is, Locus might flinch at the casual reply. As it stands, he feels nothing but a giddy excitement at how Felix turns to him so bluntly and claims _Locus' number is higher._

The toast, the slurred words. Even the way Felix rubs at his eyes. All of that combines with the flush on his face, the way he looks at him like Locus is truly capable of holding his attention.

It's endearing.

"Much more," he admits, smugly.

Locus straightens up just enough to bring his glass up in mirrored toast. Pulls it comfortably to his mouth and buries a pleased chuckle against the rim just before taking a long sip.

"You aren't going to fall asleep on me, are you?"

Another tease. He looks to Felix with that half-smile on his lips, mouth a tilted curve.

  


"Not _on you_."

Felix glares at that stupid smirky smile, though there's a distinct lack of venom in his gaze and in his tone just the same.

"You're way 'ver there, n'yer probably like furnace hot."

Definitely still isn't drunk enough to mention all the other reasons that falling asleep on Locus would be the worst decision ever, right now. Mostly it has to do with how comfortable he looks right now, over half a bottle of tequila in and he's _laughing_. Not like full body, but Felix knows he's heard it a time or two.

Plus the fact that he's just sinking into the chair he hates with a passion, letting it curl around him and bring him comfort, like he's at ease enough to smile and tease and give out information like he isn't usually a stone statue.

It's ... what, even? Endearing? Fucking cute?

God, Felix is too drunk, god help him.

"Not 'nly would I die, I would _die_."

Okay, brain to mouth filter is officially out the window, but Felix can't keep himself from whetting his whistle with another drink. Two, actually, cause delicious.

"M'kay, I'mma only child."

Speaks up with his own turn, feeling sloppy as he turns his body fully toward Locus again. Flings one leg up on the beanbag to curl under his body, but gets a little wobbly halfway between the transition and ends up steadying himself on the other guy's chair just to keep himself from spilling like so much liquid out into the floor. Can't help the way he giggles at himself before falling back into his own beanbag to wriggle back into place.

  


Okay, well. Locus has officially never seen Felix this drunk. And maybe it would be a cause for concern if it wasn't so damnably hilarious. Syllables sliding into each other. The practically affronted look given at the thought of falling asleep, literally, _on_ him.

During this rant, Locus' own mind wanders to the images Felix conjures. Yes, it would be too warm because Locus is already a natural furnace, and adding alcohol only raises his internal temperature just that much further. But also …

What would that be like?

Locus gives his partner a considering look.

In part, he thinks of the comfort a human body could bring, yes, but inevitably that human body would have to be Felix because, for one, he's the one mentioning it, and for another, _he's the only other person around_. He can't veer his thoughts away. Takes stock of the other man's frame. The familiarity of it—they've grappled enough for Locus to know each bend of every joint, what his skin feels like, even if briefly held beneath his fingers.

Thankfully his brain isn't allowed the time to wander much more than that. Felix posits another question, and Locus gets sidetracked with coming up with the correct answer while the other man bodily turns to him, rearranging.

Toppling.

Reflex drives Locus before he can think otherwise. Felix tips forward too far, hand thrust out to steady himself on Locus' seat, and though Felix can handle himself well enough in any situation, Locus reaches out without a second thought and curls long fingers around the other man's forearm to steady him as he settles.

Even goes so far as to balance himself slightly off his own seat, ensuring there are no more mishaps while Felix sinks back into his beanbag chair with a bright giggle.

Locus retracts his hand immediately, settling down again.

Watches his partner steadily for a few seconds, an amused brow raised, that wry smile firmly in place.

"You're one-of-a-kind," he answers, a compliment disguised as admonishment.

"Clearly an only child. The universe couldn't handle two of you."

  


Settling back onto his seat, Felix almost doesn't have time or mental acuity to realize he's being touched before Locus's hand is retracted. He's left staring at the spot, hotter from the guy's hand like it'd been a brand instead of simple skin-on-skin contact. It had felt exactly like Felix thought it would.

Felt kinda like the look on Locus's face is making him feel right now.

Nice. Known. Too much.

"A'right, f'one ya need to stop with that face."

Gets that out of the way first because it's all Felix can see even when he looks away. Hadn't realized it was piercing through him with how strange and pleasing it was for Locus to look at him with that amused grin, with those brows and the compliment (question mark). All wrapped up in one disgustingly _nice_ bundle it's too much.

He pouts at Locus, just for good measure.

"An f'two, you're wrong by 'bout four. M'dead middle."

Felix drinks, but this time it's maybe because he's forgotten the rules of the game altogether, so now they're just sharing things and drinking together and that's kinda fine too. As long as that look stops looking at him with that face.

Fuck now even his thoughts are starting to fall apart and not make sense. Maybe he should make his own drinking game, drink every time nothing makes sense -- fast track to an early grave, let's go boys.

  


Wait with what face? Giving a slow blink, Locus' smile naturally falls to something more neutral. He tips his head to the side. Soaks in the clear and present pout given to him.

Thinks, with the look thrown his way, he might understand that _stop with that face_ sentiment.

But Locus isn't giving Felix a look. He reaches up to touch his lips, his cheek, just to make sure. No. Nothing strange there. Just the familiar lines of an old scar, raised and prominent, rarely forgotten, at least until Felix saunters into the room.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he says, voice hitting that deep rumbly tone it always gets when he's about one more sip of liquor away from sliding into drunk.

He takes his sip. A bit more than that, even, throat bobbing on a gulp.

"And _middle_ , really? You?"

Waves his hand to gesture at the whole of Felix.

"Nothing about you says middle unless we're talking about a threesome."

Stated as the blunt fact it is.

  


Really he's going to say something witty about that first thing, but it and everything else zooms right out of his mind as soon as Locus brings up him in a threesome. Because not only is it hilarious coming out of the guy's mouth, in and of itself, but other than that? It's just hilarious, period.

A stupid goofy laugh presses from Felix's lips as if it's caught him by surprise, not a giggle, but a full on laugh and he almost spills his drink again as his arms come up to wrap around his stomach.

The laugh goes on forever, actually, until everything hurts in the best way. His eyes are watering by the time he gets a grip, though it's tenuous at best, teeters off into idiotic giggles before he can catch a breath to even think of responding. Ends, finally, in a long and all too pleased sigh.

"Both are true."

God, but a _threesome_ right now, good goddamn that would be the best way to end this night. Though he's a little past drunk and at this point isn't certain he'd be able to get it up but once, and even that's a little iffy. Two pump chump, but fuck it would still feel like heaven, he's sure of it.

Two girls doting on him nice and sweet, or maybe one of each, a guy for him to sink into while the girl does him from behind. A nice thick dick to put between his lips, give his mouth something to do other than spit nonsense like it's about to start doing now that he's not full of the giggles.

"Alas, nev' to have a threesome 'gain, why ya gotta brin' me down, Loc?"

Not that he looks too torn up about it with the grin on his lips, flush to his cheeks, though his eyes do slit mischievously as he brings the cup in his hand up to his lips.

  


_Oh._

Felix laughs. Giggles, too, afterward, but before that the other man seems caught off guard by the comment and gives a full belly laugh. At something Locus said. And not even at his expense.

It's such a pleasant sound. Locus could fall into it. The lilting tenor doesn't even hold a candle to this particular ring—and _especially_ when Locus isn't merely in the room to witness such a thing, but had been the cause of it.

Stormy eyes widen minutely and a noticeable flush covers his cheeks completely without his consent. One that has nothing to do with the half-hearted beratement about bringing up threesomes when Felix is, woefully, never going to experience such a thing again.

Because of course that's something he's done before.

Because _of course_.

Locus presses a hand over one side of his face as if that will in any way cover up his obvious blush. It doesn't, but a man can dream.

He made Felix _laugh._

Why does that feel like such a grand accomplishment? Christ, he's getting soft. But. To be fair. They're going to die there. It's just the two of them, so what does it matter if this man makes him feel happy about such an asinine thing?

_Happy._

Oh. That's ... what this is, isn't it?

Locus takes a deep breath, letting the feeling wash over him. Light-headed. Giddy.

He drops his hand, realizing it's a hopeless endeavour, and instead tucks his nose into his glass, sipping on his drink while Felix buzzes cheerily across from him. Watches the other man's chest expand with each breath. The light dance in his eyes. The way his lips curl around every sloppy vowel.

Charmed.

  


Watching Locus is swiftly becoming Felix's favorite pastime, if he's honest though, there isn't really much else to look at or talk to or just generally be around. Though, on the flipside of that, Felix tended to ignore anything and everything that wasn't Locus to begin with. Well, before they were estranged for so long, that is.

Everything else was so unendingly boring, or only interesting for a short amount of time. Felix can't begin to count how many hopeless flings he's had (because cultivating anything else was not only a recipe for disaster, but also truly unwelcome) in which the other person holds up for all of a night before Felix has moved on to greener pastures, so to speak.

That's never happened with Locus, the man an enigma in so many different ways, and now that Felix is finally beginning to uncover some of that? Good luck ever getting him to look away.

Though it's because he's looking so close that he sees _it_.

Locus's eyes widen, ever so slightly, and an all-out flush covers the apples of dark cheeks. The guy reaches up a hand to cover himself, but he only manages to sweep up half his face, the other half still blaring in that adorable blush.

What had Felix done to warrant that and _how the hell_ is that even possible? Sure, they were both growing a little soft up here, hard not to, it was just them and the endless nothingness of space. You can't keep up a hard as nails attitude knowing you're going to die with only one person in the universe ever knowing it actually happened.

But a red-faced Locus is something to covet, Felix knows this even as pissed drunk as he is at the moment. He can't keep from staring, even as Loc pulls his hand away to hide behind his liquor glass, there's no way Felix will ever be able to unsee that expression.

God, but it does _things_ to him.

And it's different from anything else he's ever felt before, knows that much too. Can tell with how tight his chest feels all the sudden, how his insides twist and turn into happy, giddy knots at the fact that he's the one that made Locus look like that. Will do anything in his power to understand what it was and how to do it again.

After everything tonight, that's definitely the thing that's going to break him.

Forget not getting any tail when he's hot and squirmy from the booze, Felix wasn't unaccustomed to taking that matter into his own hands (so to speak). What he couldn't take was the flushed, gooey, _pleased_ feeling that swirls around his gut like a witch's brew.

Certainly feels like a spell has been cast over him, what with the way he can't help but go a little speechless at the sight. His mouth doesn't hang open but it's a near thing, and his eyes shine, giddy and light and fuck all he's said it before, just a few moments ago, but …

Felix is happy.


	9. Scene IX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's official: YME is complete! We have about 17 total chapters planned, so now it's just a matter of editing, reformatting, and getting it posted.
> 
> Updates will come out every Friday—and anytime we can get the edits done before then, we'll post on additional days throughout the week, too.
> 
> Thanks again for all of the amazing comments! We're both very excited to share with all of you the rest of our story~ This chapter delves into my personal headcanon for Locus' past, so I hope you like it!
> 
> —

The worst part is, everything had been going fine. Locus had come to terms with the inevitability of a slow and unremarkable death. Had realized that, maybe, it wouldn't be so unbearable with someone like Felix at his side to witness his life, his change, and his final breath.

They've laughed together.

They've gotten drunk together and they still train together. As cramped as his life has become, Locus finds very few qualms with it. There had been no lingering awkwardness after the messy display of emotions they'd shown towards each other. He'd gotten to know his partner a little more, small bits of his existence that Locus can't help but feel privileged to know.

So why, after two weeks of such a genuinely amenable time, would he be plagued by a vivid, relentless night terror?

 _Failure_ , all that white noise whispers, the sound like flies around a carcass. He can smell it, too, the limp meat of a dead body, and when he turns to land widened eyes on the sickly mess, when he reaches out in that thick darkness and shoves the hunk of meat from belly to back, it's her.

Rotting, hair already falling out in clumps.

His face is wet. Blood in his eyes.

He jerks back and bangs his head against a metal wall. Scrambles away so violently every cover on his bed is pushed into the floor. With ragged breathing, Locus curls his legs beneath his chin, wraps arms around them, and tries valiantly to suck clean air back into his lungs, but it just tastes like dead flesh.

_Failure._

His face is wet. He reaches up and wipes thin saltwater from his cheeks.

It isn't an unfamiliar nightmare, but it's been a long time since he's had it. The sour taste of _my fault_ sits heavily on his tongue. He swallows. Trembles. Tries to pace his breathing but it doesn't help, nothing helps, it never has. It only makes him feel so desperately, so unendingly alone.

Bare feet hit the floor without him thinking about it. Walk him to his door. It slides open, loud in the quiet hum of idle machinery. The hallway is dark, artificial lights set to their night cycle, a soft blue. A door approaches him. Strange. His hand rises of its own volition. Also strange.

Instinct kicks in. Decay still hides itself in every crevice of his nasal cavity. It isn't safe here.

At least, not alone.

With a manic look forcing his eyes to hold themselves too wide, and sloppy breaths heaving his chest out and in, Locus, by some animal nature inside him, seeks out the only safe place left.

Felix.

His hand drops and he presses it against the wall sensor, opening the other man's bedroom door without knocking. Hovers in the entrance, a dark silhouette, broad shoulders blocking most of the dim blue light that would otherwise filter in.

  


Night time, or what passes as such around here, has never really found Felix in great spirits. He was prone to insomnia on a good night, and on a bad one? Well, there's the night terrors and possible sleep apnea, the feeling of something closing around his windpipe every time he shut his eyes.

So no, not really a great time, but even when he did fall asleep, it isn't like the faintest flow of a breeze can't wake him up in a heartbeat. He wasn't always like that, could sleep like the dead before he started making enemies and y'know, yadda yadda.

Up here on _The Attie_ , however, it was all starting to get a little better. There was only Locus, after all, and after the first six months (roughly, who's really counting anymore) if the guy hadn't smothered Felix in his sleep, that outcome was rather unlikely.

So he's been resting a little easier lately, but there's a grand difference between the air kicking on and his door opening in the middle of the night.

Not something expected in the least, and it doesn't take but a moment for Felix to be up and reaching for the knife he still keeps underneath his pillow. Old habits die hard, apparently, even in relative safety.

The door is wide open, suffocating the miniscule haze of the light outside is one hulking body. It's immediately apparent that it's Locus in the frame, not because he's the only other person aboard the ship, but because Felix would know that silhouette anywhere, even half asleep as he is.

Something is definitely wrong. Locus doesn't speak, doesn't brief him on what's happening, so they can't have been found, the ship hasn't lurched, there's no obvious scent of fire or fumes.

All this information taken in, only a blink of a second has passed before Felix finds himself almost relaxing from his own hunched position, knife at the ready.

"Locus?"

His voice is rough, groggy, but words escape him for a moment. Nothing is obviously wrong, but still, something is up and the overall aura surrounding his partner has bad news written all over it.

  


_There it is_. That sound he'd unconsciously sought out. That familiar tenor, though with a low rasp staining the edges.

Locus' eyes flick down to the knife in hand. He barely processes it's there. He's barely processing anything, really, only that Felix is in the room now, but he still smells death cloying at him, and every dark, piercing jeer bouncing around his head only amplifies.

Tells him what an idiot he is, bothering his partner this late at night.

"I—"

Mouth clamps down around that one sound. It wouldn't have even been a sentence to begin with.

What is he doing there?

He should leave, but he's wearing cement shoes and there isn't even any water around to drown himself in.

Instead, he tries to focus on the here and now. The reality of Felix hunched over in bed, tense, weapon at the ready. All reasonable reactions for the way Locus had barged into his personal space. Maybe the other man thinks something is wrong with the ship. Maybe he thinks Locus finally snapped and is here to kill him.

It's hard to consider these possibilities when the ghost of a dreamed corpse flickers behind Felix's head. She's limp and cold and all he can see is her face—her ripped off face, one side blasted through with shrapnel, what's left of an eye, half a mouth, turned to him, lids open, angry, and it locks Locus in place even further, shoulders tensing while he stares at her, some spot just over the crown of Felix's hair, his mind violent and clearly unhappy with the thought of him slowly learning how to find peace.

  


Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Felix is quick to take stock of the situation.

Locus is still standing in the doorway, mouth open around one aborted sound before it clamps down with a steely might, the guy doesn't move forward into the room or back out into the hallway. Seems rooted to that exact spot, actually, and Felix can see even from his vantage point on the bed that the guy is locked up tight. Every muscle tense and on edge.

The longer they wait, the more certain Felix is that there's nothing wrong with the ship, more like there's something so very wrong with his partner.

He slides the knife in his hand directly back underneath his pillow, holds both hands out in front of him so Locus can see that he is no longer such a dire threat. Doesn't know if that'll help or not, but he's kinda moving on instinct alone. His body is certainly more awake than his mind, here, but he's waking up more by the minute.

"Loc, buddy?"

Goes for something easy, trying to snatch his partner's attention back up from where it seems zeroed in on the wall right beside Felix's head. Like the guy isn't actually seeing _him_ , but maybe something else.

And for all Felix knows, he is.

Has gone through that himself, a time or two, though it hasn't happened in a hell of a long time.

"You with me? Gonna come in, or what?"

Felix takes a bit of a chance at that, moves so slightly forward to flick the light of his little bedside table lamp on. Can see wide, blown out eyes, a thin sheen of sweat over the guy's face as soon as Felix does so.

  


It isn't real. He's perfectly capable of understanding that. _She_ isn't real. She's buried in a plot of land three-point-five miles northeast of a small cabin with a red roof, in an unremarkable Colorado cemetery. She isn't here, and she will never be again.

But no matter how many times Locus tells himself this, and knows it deep in his core, the thought of her, of his _failure_ , has seeded itself so deep that even when she dissipates from direct view, he can sense her on the edge of his vision. The shadow that curls in anyone's periphery, impossible to focus on, but _known_.

His chest tightens. Aches. He's not breathing right. It gets more frantic with every second, heart pumping blood rapidly through his veins.

Felix speaks again, something calm, reasonable. It takes a mighty effort but he drags his gaze from that invisible point above the other man's head, down to his face. No more knife. Both arms extended like Locus is a wild animal capable of tearing them apart.

A fact.

Doesn't even flinch when light floods the room—a warm yellow glow that chases away dark corners. But the shadows elongate in some spots. It makes them look darker. Like something that can be touched, felt.

It takes a long minute for him to understand the question. To grasp that Felix hasn't yelled at him for his intrusion, but instead wonders why he's hovering at the door, and hasn't stepped inside yet.

Locus' arms tremble. His feet take slow, careful steps forward.

"I— don't know—"

He doesn't know why he's there. What had driven him to seek his partner out. Why the world is swimming around the edges. Why he can't just feel _normal_ for once, satisfied.

_It's that day._

The thought slaps him in the face so suddenly he reels back as if physically hit. One hand smacks against the metal wall to steady himself. For all the miniscule progress he'd made entering the room, it's swallowed up by a shivering retreat and he's right back where he started, hovering in the doorway again.

  


Okay, well, as many times as this has happened to him, Felix isn't quite certain what to do when it's someone else on the other end. Definitely isn't certain what to do when faced with Locus, of all people -- strong, steady, rooted -- coming to _him_ like that's just the thing to do.

Because it isn't and Felix has never been the one to go to with problems like this, can barely deal with his own, thank you very much, and even that he doesn't do well.

Drowns himself until the voices, the visions, go away.

Here, Locus is standing in front of him looking like nothing more than a spooked animal, breath heaving and uneven, eyes wide and shuddery, like he wants to look around, search the room for something that he knows isn't there. Because they both know it's just a ghost, whatever it is that's spooking Locus so bad, there's nothing _here._

And yet …

"It's --"

Felix is cut off as soon as he opens his mouth to speak, Locus rearing back as if he'd been physically pushed against the wall. He'd just started to take a step forward too, all progress, physical and mental, scurrying back.

It's hard to watch, if Felix is honest, he's awake and aware enough to understand what's happening, but still doesn't know what to do to make his friend feel better.

Fuck, and that's what they are now, right? Locus is his friend, and it isn't right, doesn't feel right, to see him like this.

Felix doesn't stand, doesn't want to push Locus anymore from the room than he's already doing himself, but he does speak strong, makes sure his voice carries in the room. Maybe to break whatever spell Locus is under, maybe just to break himself of whatever timidity that he's been placed in.

"Locus. It's two forty-seven am, we're in the Milky Way Galaxy, aboard _The Attenborough._ We've been on the ship for how many days?"

Gives the guy in front of him something concrete to latch onto, a question he can answer. Maybe it'll help? Fuck all if Felix knows.

He actually ... kinda wants to reach out again, further, take a few steps toward Locus to get a hand around his wrist, something even more concrete. Maybe check his pulse, see if there is any risk of the guy's heart actually beating out of his chest. It's been known to happen, not literally, but panic attacks weren't something to be messed with.

Felix remains on his bed, however, expression open, hands flipped up where Locus can see them.

  


_Two fourty-seven A-M_ , that's right. The information digs into his brain, wide eyes zeroed in on Felix's mouth while he speaks. The man has always had a way with piercing through the noise. The quality of his voice. What he says. Both work in tandem to solidify the ground Locus walks on.

It's two fourty-seven A-M on _The Attie_ , lost somewhere on the southern edge of the Milky Way, for—

"Six months, three days."

His voice comes out ragged, like his throat was clenched in a soundless scream before he'd woken up.

And if his mental calendar is right, _this is that day._ It's always been rough, and he's always found a way to prepare himself for the wash of anguish long buried memories tended to bring. He'd gotten distracted, though. Too caught up in becoming a person again. In enjoying whatever was happening between him and Felix.

Locus had forgotten.

He'd forgotten her.

He presses two fingers to the topmost edge of his scar. Traces one line all the way down to where it stops beneath his left eye. Splays his hand out until his fingers look like bars covering a wild gaze, calloused tips pushing up into messy hair that's slowly been growing out.

Locus stares at Felix like he's the only thing that really exists in this moment.

"I'm sorry."

Words wet and shattered.

  


As easy as it is to take in the information presented to him, it almost feels like Felix is witnessing something he really shouldn't be. Like this, whatever it is that has gotten Locus so up in his head, is something personal and private in a way that Felix really isn't meant to see.

Doesn't feel like anyone was meant to bear witness to it, actually.

And he gets it, if there's anyone who does, it's Felix.

But it _hurts_. It's not Felix's pain, but for some reason his dark, black little heart gives some phantom ache at the way Locus touches his own face, the scar, before curling his fingers like prison bars over his eyes. Still wild and shaken apart.

He swallows against the feeling in his chest, hot and tight, like he's the one that's about to have the panic attack, exhales against it when Locus speaks again. An apology of all things, one that comes out weak and liquid.

"Nah," Felix has to clear his voice from roughness, but doesn't think twice to keep speaking.

"I get it."

Should he offer Locus the room again? Ask if he wants to sit down? God, why was he so emotionally stunted even at a time like this? He doesn't know how to help, doesn't even know how to go about trying, but he's here and he doesn't want Locus wandering off to have some kinda mental breakdown somewhere else on the ship.

"C'mon, I'll make us some coffee or something."

Doesn't state it as a question, nope, he's already on his feet, though it's at this point Felix realizes he's dressed down completely. Wearing only a pair of boxers in the chill of the ship isn't exactly the best idea.

"Uh, after I find pants."

  


He gets it.

That information jolts through Locus like a hot iron, melting the ice in his spine.

Of course Felix understands. They're both veterans of the galaxy's bloodiest war. They've both experienced this sort of thing before. If anyone exists in this world who actually _gets it_ , that's this man.

The knowledge is relieving. Locus stares at him, solidifying Felix's existence even if the rest of the room isn't quite stable yet. As long as he has this one person, he can breathe a little easier. Or, at least take measures to try.

His partner jumps out of bed wearing nothing but a pair of boxers on his lower half, and that's such a ridiculous contrast for the pain in Locus' chest, it's comical. Not enough for him to crack a smile or anything even close to that, but he lowers his hand after a long moment, and gives a quiet, unsure nod.

  


—

  


In the kitchen, the smell of coffee is more soothing than it should be. Typically, on this day, Locus would be doing something ... else. Before Chorus, that usually meant a couple bottles of hard liquor ingested in far too quick a time. Something to knock him out entirely. More recently, he's simply locked himself away and let the headache of shame and helplessness wash through him until he finally woke up from it (even if actually waking up from this feeling was such a tenuous outcome).

He's sought Felix out, though, and even if the man is an emotional cripple in the best of times, he's _Locus'_ emotional cripple.

Besides, Locus can't say much better about himself.

With a warm cup held between both palms, he settles into the chair set up at the small dining area, hunkered down as if he can hide his larger frame behind something so miniscule.

He takes a sip. Eyes closing from the heat and pleasant taste. They fly back open immediately after, a flash of his nightmare clawing behind the lids.

He won't be getting any sleep tonight.

"I apologize for ... intruding."

The words sound breathless, like he's fresh off a marathon run. His heart is beginning to calm down, though. Felix grounds him.

  


It had taken all of two seconds for Felix to find a semi-clean pair of pants to slap on, and he'd done so immediately, with Locus hovering unsure in his doorway. Which, all in all, wasn't the most awkward thing he's ever been through. It wasn't like the guy was barely seeing him anyway, not with that look in his eye.

A shirt had been foregone anyway, he needed a bit of the chill to wake himself up a little more, especially if he was to deal with ... well, whatever Locus had to throw at him.

Because he wasn't leaving the guy alone to deal with it himself, that's for damn sure. They're here now, together, and if Felix understands anything about them now, it's that it helps him to be around Locus, so maybe the same is true for the other guy. No chance to find out than the present.

Especially since Felix has been having, well let's say certain _thoughts_. Not anything super weird, just that they might be becoming friends and that Locus isn't an unattractive guy. It's all a little mixed up in Felix's head, but when is anything straight forward, right?

He's working through it.

Still, Locus comes first here and now, so Felix had wandered them both straight to the kitchen and set out making a pot of strong coffee. Locus always took his black so he got a cup first while Felix rummaged around for sugar and creamer.

He emerges from the fridge victorious right as Locus speaks and Felix is left feeling a little out of his depth once again. Sits at the table all the same to start arranging his cup of coffee to his taste.

"S'cool, knew it had to be for a good reason."

A shrug, because it's true. The knife thing had been kneejerk, but as soon as Felix noticed it was Locus in the doorway, he'd calmed down pretty quick.

"A knock wouldn't hurt, good thing I wasn't like jackin' it or anything."

His grin is easy, sharp and in good humor as he raises his coffee to his lips. Gives it a gentle blow before taking a quiet sip.

  


_A good reason._

Locus stares, this comment dragging him into the present more than anything else. Part of him wants to focus on it. What that might mean. How an interrupted night of sleep, for Locus' _panic attack_ , could ever be considered "a good reason." There's some meaning behind it, something simple probably, but the larger part of Locus is still mostly not there at all.

He's back in Colorado, and he's much younger, and his hair is longer, too, pulled back in a ponytail.

Felix flits about the galley kitchen, comes to the table, settles down with coffee and cream and sugar, and it's only then that Locus notices the other man is shirtless. He'd comment on how it's too cold for that, but Felix keeps speaking, as is one of his highest talents, and Locus ends up blinking at him, a hazy gaze pulled into focus only when he looks at the other man.

"Good thing," he agrees, and any other time he'd scrunch his nose up at the comment, at the image that tries its best to push into his head, but honestly?

He's spacing out.

Ends up staring at Felix for a good long while, as if in consideration.

This man is his friend.

There. The word solidifies in his brain and doesn't feel so strange to think about. Felix has helped him on the battlefield as a fierce warrior, helped him with his injured hands as a precise medic, helped him with his loneliness as a congenial entity bringing booze to the party, and now he's here. At the table. Helping Locus with his tangled brain, as a friend.

A flood of affection sinks into his chest. Locus sucks in a deep, slow inhale with the sensation. The first calm breath he's taken since he woke up.

"It was sixteen years ago," he says, softly, reaching a hand up to touch his scar for emphasis.

"Today."

  


Oh. 

_Oh_. That's where this is going, then.

Like, Felix can read the context clues in front of him, right? The guy had touched his face earlier, hidden behind his hand like that alone could drive away the nightmare of whatever it was right in front of his eyes. So, yeah, Felix had kind of assumed he'd had a terror about how he'd gotten the scar.

But it wasn't in him to ask about it. Never had been. It was a point of contrition for Locus, always hiding it behind make up or his helmet, and that alone gave Felix insight into how close to the chest that particular story was.

Here, however, Locus takes a deep, steadying breath and opens his mouth for a few simple words that plummet Felix's stomach to the ground. Everything is soft spoken here, and Felix takes that to heart. Doesn't fly off at the mouth as is usual, but he can't sit by quietly and let Locus do this alone.

"Hey, Loc, I get it."

A hand comes up as if to reach out to the other guy before Felix even realizes he's done anything. He pulls it back slowly, settles both hands around the coffee cup between them, as if that could stop him from doing something that's definitely _too much_.

They've never been the touchy feely types, but Felix also isn't one to forego physical touch. Even something simple, a hand on the shoulder, a push or friendly shove, hell he gets especially touchy when he's drunk. Seeks out a companion not just for a night between the sheets, but for ... lack of a better word, intimacy.

Without that outlet he's left with hands that stick out to comfort without his conscious thought. Yeah, really gonna have to work on that.

"You don't have to say anything. About anything."

Goes for reassuring, some even, open expression on his face even if his hands are clinging tight to the mug of coffee.

  


Sudden, a hand reaches out to him. Locus flicks his gaze down to stare at it. It retracts, an aborted gesture, and curls around a cup of coffee like a snake sun bathing on a rock, seeking heat.

What an interesting thing to do.

He knows Felix has quirks about that. Touch. How, like any other gesture or expression, the man can, and often has, used little touches here and there to get a certain point across. Fake camaraderie. A threatening motion disguised behind a friendly arm thrown around some stranger's shoulder. Thinks back to that night, so long ago, how he'd had an arm flung around some pretty girl's shoulders, though that had been for an entirely different reason, and in a far less threatening manner.

Here, Felix resists the attempt to touch, as if the desire had come to him unbidden.

Locus drops his hand. Turns his gaze ever lower, to the table between them, until it sinks into his coffee cup.

"I would like to."

He wishes his voice didn't still sound so beaten up. He wishes he was stronger than he is—that he could carry this to his grave. He'd deserve it. For failing himself. For failing her. He'd deserve to die with the knowledge that she'd snuff out with his own life. He'd deserve to carry this weight alone, until his last shuddering breath.

But he isn't strong. He isn't a machine, or a true soldier. He's just a man.

"I would like you to know."

Locus drags his gaze back upward. Stares at Felix, unblinking, something necessary but nervous behind grey eyes.

  


This is ... a lot to take in, actually.

Felix has never been one to fully connect with the emotions of other people. He understands how they think and feel, uses that innate knowledge to know how to hurt, how to get what he wants, how to manipulate. That's what he does, what he's always done to make his way up the veritable food chain of life.

Here, he knows and has thought it many times before, there is no chain.

It's him and Locus and inevitable starvation or machine malfunction. They're all they've got until death knocks at the door and claims them both, together or separately. Doesn't matter -- nothing does.

Nothing except Locus, _Sam_. His partner and now his friend or whatever the hell they wanna call it.

So yes, heavy, hard to comprehend in the way Locus looks at him, all nerves and something else buried down there that Felix doesn't quite get. But he's there, so it's listen or don't and hurt the only steady thing Felix has ever had in his wasteful existence.

"Alright."

There was never another option, not here, not now.

"I'm listening."

Felix keeps his own expression neutral, soft in a way, even though he's a little chilly now and the heat from the coffee in his hands isn't near enough to warm him through. Maybe he needs the cold now, though, needs it to keep him rooted in this existence instead of letting himself be wrapped up in Locus's past.

  


It's happened so much more lately, but here, as before, Felix _looks at him_. An attentiveness to his gaze that speaks more than words ever could. A softness there, too. Nothing wry or exasperated, nothing eager like he's been waiting to hear about this ever since they met in their platoon.

No, he just looks honest and open.

Locus takes another breath, that tight nervousness nearly enough to make him backpedal. He wants to laugh it off. _No, you know what? Nevermind. It's nothing._

But it's not nothing. It's so much _not nothing_ that it had shaped the course of his life. A life that will be snuffed out soon enough, but he wants Felix— _Isaac_ , to know him. Every part. Even the ones that hurt the most.

A heavy thought.

Locus takes a sip of coffee, allows himself to slip into another space.

"It was two years before I joined the UNSC," he begins, casting his eyes out the viewing window. 

"I was ... engaged. To a woman I met in college, Camila."

His throat closes up for a moment. When was the last time he'd even thought her name, let alone spoken it? His chest pulls tight again. He takes another sip of hot coffee to try and swallow the feeling down.

The rest comes in a rush. Like, if he bites it out, it'll be easier to get through.

"We lived in a cabin. Secluded in the woods, near a lake. Colorado. I— there was a detached garage. And an old car I was rebuilding. And I couldn't hear them because the engine was too loud ..."

_The door bursts open and his head is buried in the whirring engine of an old Pontiac GTO. He's grabbed by the base of his ponytail and jerked back, and he's always been a big man, but the thing is Sam's never been a violent one, so he goes crashing down and there's two of them, and one's pressing a gun to his head and the other has grimy fingers curled bruise-strong around Camila, and there's already a purple stain closing her eye. Grimy says "just fucking kill him now, man, just fucking do it" and Gun says "I told you not to fucking fuck her Jesus Christ man fucking hell I said there was someone else here I didn't want this there's not much money anyways fucking Christ."_

_Gun is crying and Grimy looks like he's about to vomit and Sam has never been a violent man but he thinks, maybe, no one really is until they have to be._

_She looks at him. Camila looks Sam in the eye and shakes her head, no it's not worth it, and he doesn't listen. He grabs Gun by the hand and yanks, and a shot goes off, unbalanced, right into the hood of a running car, nips a fuel line. Fire and gas. Explosion. It singes his hair, some sharp piece blows off and hits him in the face, thrusts him to the ground._

_His face is wet. There's blood in his eyes._

_When Sam crawls from the heat and pain over to the crumpled body of his fiancee, he tugs on her and doesn't understand, for such a long time, why she's so unmoving. Why there's some long metal piece jutting from her chest. Why half her face is shredded by shrapnel. Why she won't breathe. Why won't she breathe? Please, Camila, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that. I'm sorry._

Locus isn't sure what he says, really, but his lips have been moving this whole time, and when they stop, the world comes back into focus and the stars blink at him for a long moment before he's able to look away.

He settles a heavy, guilty gaze on Felix.

"I told her parents the man opened fire."

A lie. He'd forced his hand. He'd made it worse, so much worse.

"I never found them."

What will Felix think of him now? Monster? Coward? He'd been so _weak_ back then. If only he'd been faster. Stronger. More attentive. Able to think in such a high pressure situation.

He'd failed her.

He'd failed Felix. Asking to abandon their mission. Getting them stuck out in the middle of nowhere. They're going to die there, and it'll just be another life he cares about, ended by his own incompetence.

Slowly, Locus unravels his hands from his coffee cup. Buries his face in his palms, shoulders hunched in on himself by the weight of it all.

He thought he'd changed. That he'd gotten stronger. But Felix is going to suffer because of his weakness. It's going to happen all over again.

  


Jesus.

Jesus fucking Christ.

There's nothing Felix can do but sit and listen as words flow like vile liquid from Locus, like he doesn't even know what he's saying. Maybe he doesn't, stuck so far up in his head, in that memory, as he is.

It paints a vivid, vicious picture though. Felix can imagine it, doesn't know faces so he supplies his own. Makes Locus into _Sam_ , young and handsome, placid and in love with his soon to be wife. Felix feels the pain as Sam hits the ground, feels rage and feral hate as his fiance is brought into that garage. Hurt, _raped_.

In their home. Where he thought they were safe.

Empathy isn't exactly something Felix was well versed in, but here and now he feels that sinking dread underneath his skin. Understands everything, now. How Sam could shut himself down, to protect others and himself from that hurt.

The stupid fuck thinks it's _his fault._

Locus all but collapses in on himself as the story ends on a particular note of despair. This giant of a man rendered helpless under the weight of perceived failure. It isn't right. Nothing about this is and Felix knows it'll haunt him now, just like his sister does, for the rest of his life.

But it's a burden he is surprisingly alright sharing with this man. If it helps.

Felix can't help the way he stands, legs pushing him upright before he even knows it's happening. He plants one finger hard down against the middle of the table, voiced raised, definitive.

"I want you to listen to me, Sam."

Doesn't mean to use what could be a dead name to the guy, but it feels more right here.

"We have to live through this, because there are two men now at the top of my _list_ , and I won't stop until I find them."

His voice comes out in more of a growl than anything, vicious and hungry. Felix can't think past that particular feeling in his chest, doesn't even try to hide it.

"And if you think for even one goddamn second that it's in any way your fault, then I'mma beat that outta you too."

  


Screeching noise fills the room. It's loud and sudden enough for Locus to jerk his head up out of his hands, surprise widening his eyes to find Felix standing before him, the epitome of rage. A light shines behind his partner's eyes—one Locus has seen so very many times before.

_Sam._

A jolt rocks through him.

It's been so long. So very, very long since he's heard that name. But it isn't used cruelly, here. A means to grab his attention. Because Felix is being serious right now—no jokes, no sneer, no quip about how idiotic Locus is for letting that happen in the first place.

Instead, the smaller man stands tall. Expresses a seething rage so shocking in its sincerity, Locus snaps back to reality in an instant.

He's on a ship in the middle of space. It's past three in the morning now. They've been stranded for six months, three days. Felix is shirtless. It smells like coffee in the room. A firm finger is planted on the table. A chair has been pushed back. Felix is talking about his list. About surviving.

Felix says it isn't his fault.

_It isn't his fault._

Locus' first knee-jerk reaction is to part his lips in preparation for a rebuttal. Of course it's his fault. If he'd just stayed still and let them leave, let them kill him, she would be okay. She would be alive.

But there's a look in the other man's eyes that begs no room for argument. To Felix, Locus' innocence in this matter is a fact. And he looks ready to tear the throat out of anyone who says otherwise, with his teeth.

"It's— I don't—"

That's what comes out, a solid ten seconds after his mouth had parted. Life pushes into his gaze. Heat. Warmth. Something needy and desperate, a spark ignited by Felix.

Because it sounds so good. To find these men. To make them suffer.

An impossibility, because they're stranded and they're going to die on this ship. But even just imagining it, knowing someone else in this world _knows_ and imagines the same, is— it's—

Locus reaches out, a flood of affection overtaking him. The man who stands before him is a violent sort. He's wicked and hedonistic and likes to see red flow like some people like to watch waterfalls. No doubt arises that Felix means exactly what he says. If they were capable, if it was possible, they would find these men and make them pay. Felix is angry _for_ him.

Felix is angry.

Felix is **his.**

His hand curls firmly around the other man's wrist. Doesn't tug or cinch or do anything than make itself known. Locus needs a point of contact.

He stares up at Felix, eyes wide. Grateful.

"You called me Sam."

It's the only thing he can't think to say, dumbfounded by all of the emotion swirling in his chest.

  


Fight isn't something that just deserts, rage isn't something that can dwindle down with a word, a phrase. It feeds off of some inner well inside, one that Felix is sure runs deep as his soul for the weight of it crashing down over him. All he wants in this moment is to know the faces of those on his list, wants to imagine them crumpling in fear and terror as he makes them suffer.

What he gets, however, is one Samuel Ortez (because that's certainly who this man is, here) looking up at him like he's _needed_ in this moment. Like Felix's anger is breathing new life into this man and all he can do is be grateful for such a thing.

And hell, if that's what Sam needs, then Felix has it in droves. Feels like he could never settle again, not until revenge is dealt, cold and sweet.

A hand wrapped around his wrist is grounding, however, and Felix doesn't understand why he's so angry. Knows a little of why, of course, because this is Locus -- Sam -- one man that he never thought was anything different than the machine he made himself out to be. Never understood why, but it isn't like Felix had figured it was anything like this.

And how fucking unfair was that?

It's unimaginable, this man losing so much that he could transform into stone. Though really it isn't as if he'd ever imagined becoming close enough to the guy for him to let Felix in. That meant something, didn't it? Is that what friends do, or was this something different entirely?

They were different, not normal men by any stretch of the word.

Felix softens, can't help the way the rage boils down to a simmer in his gut as Sam looks up at him with that expression. His eyes warm, head cocks to the side, thin line of his lips quirk up at the corner. A secret smile, one he's only ever shown this man, to his recollection."I've never known you to prefer Samuel."

A little quip, yes, but some kind of peaceful branch extended. Acceptance.

Felix doesn't move his arm out of the other man's grip, doesn't even think to.

  


The anger doesn't fade from his partner's eyes. Not really. But Locus touches him gently, more for himself than anything else, and it seems this small gesture is enough to drag Felix back into the present. Might ground him just as much as it's grounding Locus.

He doesn't deserve this kind of understanding. Thoughtless. Loyal. An anger inside Felix driven there by Locus' own pain. But he has it. Knows he has it when the other man makes eye contact, gives him a smile so rare and incredibly cherished.

"No," he agrees, air entering his lungs steadily now. His coffee has gotten cold. Locus can't take his gaze off the man in front of him.

"I don't."

No muscle in his body can will his mouth to turn up. He's too exhausted for that. Drained. But he hopes his gratitude can be properly expressed in some other part of him. In the intensity of cloudy eyes. In the way his thumb slides up to smooth over the jutting knob of a thin wrist.

Something inside Locus grows. He's not sure he really understands it. But the longer he looks up at that private smile given just for him, and thinks about the easy words that dispel tension in the air, the larger that unnameable presence inside him becomes. It starts in his stomach, expands out to his chest, until it claws at his throat like he's a glass with liquid eager to tumble over the rim.

"Thank you."

He squeezes Felix's wrist once, gently, and reluctantly pulls his hand back. The man had been cool beneath his warm palm. Ice soothing a burn.

  


A pause lingers between them, but it doesn't last long enough for Felix to imagine he's done anything wrong here. No, more like Locus needed the time and space to take a good breath, and once he does so, words come more easily.

The man doesn't smile, or frown, or show much outward emotion at all, but Felix understands the feeling of the room and how it lightens around them. Understands the pressure of a thumb against his wrist where it rubs soothingly just there. Can't exactly parse how he feels, himself, in this moment.

Though he does know one thing and it sinks down into his gut, weighty and warm.

This Locus? This _Sam?_

Is his.

Comes to that realization quickly and it cements itself deep within him as he's thanked, of all things, before Locus pulls his hand back after a gentle touch. Felix misses it immediately, the warmth there, how it was such a steadying thing. Doesn't say anything of it, however, it isn't …

Well. This is neither the time nor the place for Felix to be wanting of anything, not from this man. So he doesn't reach back out for that safety, doesn't press into Locus's space to seek out more physical touch. Thinks he could be sated with a pat on the shoulder, a grip, a punch. Anything to feel that comfort again.

He takes a deep, calming breath instead. Makes himself sit back down at the table.

"So, we binging Uncharted, or do you wanna try to get some rest?"

Thinks to the cot that they've stowed away in the cargo hold. How he might not mind dragging it out, setting it up in Locus's room. Doesn't mention it, sure as hell not, but he thinks about it and that's something in and of itself.

  


That feeling in his chest, throat, simmering all the way down to his stomach—Felix rearranges, speaks, and it gives Locus just enough time to place it.

Affection.

The realization washes through him, not unpleasantly.

He feels affection for this person. Thankful, clearly, but that wasn't a strong enough word to describe the warmth flooding his veins while witnessing those snarled teeth and that unholy anger.

Felix spits death threats, warns Locus of bodily harm if certain thoughts are held inside his head _(it's not your fault)_ , smiles at him, sinks into his chair, offers a round of video games, and all of these pieces fit together so seamlessly into one wholly unique person, and Locus feels _affectionate_ towards it.

The problem is, he doesn't know how to express such a thing. The rules were burned out of him long ago, and even then, he's not sure any sort of rules would apply to Felix. The man is an anarchist of the highest degree.

Caught up in thoughts of how to properly show his gratitude, it takes Locus a moment to soak in what's been asked of him. He blinks. Rests his chin in his palm, giving a steady, considering look.

"I won't be able to sleep."

Fact.

"And ... I don't want to keep you up any longer than I have."

Also a fact.

_But._

Locus doesn't want Felix to leave. He doesn't want to be alone. He's unsure how to express this, though, without spilling the words out between them as some sticky emotional mess.

Though, when he thinks about it, could anything he has to say be more personally detrimental than the story he's just told? In truth, with that in the open, there's ... really nothing to be afraid of, is there? Felix now holds the darkest part of him, and the man hadn't so much as flinched from Locus' truth.

"But I don't want you to go."

The words fly out. Honest. Confused with himself for having this desire in the first place. His fingers flex along his chin. He can still feel Felix's skin beneath his hand as some phantom touch.

  


This is ... Well, shit.

Felix doesn't know how to feel much more than he's presently doing. Still feels that rage, but it's tucked away in that dark place inside of him. The little corner of his mind that never forgets or forgives and festers until only blood satisfies.

But there's also some lightness to him, something warm and right cozied up against the inside of his chest cavity. It clenches at the look of Locus now, chin in his hand, expression lax and tired. The guy's been through the ringer, not just tonight, but for a long time now. Felix can sympathize, actually, and finds himself more than willing to do so for this person alone.

So he's just about to open his mouth, give some easy reassurance that he probably won't be able to sleep for awhile either, so their time is better spent together anyway. Doesn't actually get the chance, however, before Locus is laying even more of himself out on the table, on full display.

_I don't want you to go._

Has Felix ever heard that before? Has he ever been asked to stay?

Blinking across the table at the man who's somehow wormed his way underneath Felix's skin, he can't keep another soft expression from blooming just around his eyes. Another thing he can sympathize with, apparently.

"Video games it is, then."

Felix stands once again, posture easy as he stretches the kinks from his back. Fuck he'd gotten so tense, all the muscles in his body clenching all at once. He rubs at his neck, feeling a knot there as he turns towards the dining room exit.

"C'mon, big guy, I'll get it set up."


	10. Scene X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felix headcanons incoming~ As always, thank you again so much for the comments, we love each and every one! I'll reply as soon as I can!
> 
> —

After that night, where his history and his being was spilled mercilessly onto the floor and the man witness to such a thing waded with no preamble through every dark puddle of it, Locus finds his growing affection does not dwindle.

It roars, and seems just about anything Felix does adds kindling to the flame.

If he were a bumbling little preteen, Locus might think he has a crush. The symptoms are the same. Heightened pulse when Felix enters the room, a constant desire to be in the other man's presence, a hunger for every scrap of knowledge that Felix deigns to give him.

There is absolutely no way this feeling is a _crush_ , however, because ... it can't be. Because it _isn't._

Regardless, Locus finds himself seeking out the other man more often than ever before. Testing certain boundaries he had never thought to test. Asking questions regardless of their importance.

Which is how he finds a hand at the small of Felix's back while he breezes past him in the galley kitchen one day. A light look on his face when he settles in front of the other man, one hip propped on the counter.

"When is your birthday?"

  


It isn't like anything has been weird between them since that night, but maybe it's that in and of itself that has Felix feeling a little ... strange.

Not in the way he had been before, when looking at Locus became _looking_ at the guy. That was something seemingly inevitable, considering Felix's healthy appreciation for the human form. Locus was the only other person around, of course Felix was going to start looking.

As long as that was all it was though, it should be fine right? They've only got a few years of food left anyway, not like he couldn't hold out that long and die without ever crossing that particular boundary.

Only now, along with the looking, Felix is beginning to _see_ Locus.

Just little things, like the guy is consciously showing him instead of it just happening. It doesn't feel anything but stupidly right though, and that makes it _weird_. Not bad, but also not something Felix can just handle right off the bat, not with all those other things floating around in the space between his ears.

Though really, it isn't like he can do anything to stop the comforting familiarity as it's given to him, can't even think to do such, no matter how 'too much' it feels like at times.

So it's for that reason, when Felix is simply minding his own business gathering things for a midday snack, that he doesn't do much as Locus walks into the kitchen. Gives the guy a nod, but has to fight off a twitch as a broad, warm hand slides along the sensitive area at the small of his back.

It's a fleeting touch, but like every one Locus has given them in their six months (and counting) aboard _The Attie_ , it lingers like a hot brand.

The question is the only thing that keeps him out of his head for long enough to answer, confused but not unwilling to participate in whatever it is Locus is dragging him into.

"April fifth."

Felix continues making his sandwich, doesn't look over, but only because he is certain he's beginning to show signs of weakness against Locus and his damnable touches.

  


"Ah, unfortunate."

He's been in a good mood for a while now. Lighter. The world isn't so difficult to navigate when it's condensed into such a small point, and beyond the rather manageable existence Locus now has the opportunity to uphold, there's Felix.

His friend.

And the only man alive who Locus wouldn't mind knowing the full extent of him.

Unfortunate, because he's kept track of the date, and April has well and fully passed. It will show up again nine months from now. Both too late and too early to do anything about it.

Head slightly tilted, Locus watches Felix flit about the room for a little snack. Readjusts to rest both his hands on the edge of the counter and lean casually against it.

"What do you want when it comes around, then?"

  


Locus becoming a person isn't going much of anything like Felix had expected it to. He could see cracks in the exterior, sure, but it feels like a dam has broken somewhere and let Samuel Ortez up for a breath of fresh air. 

He's not overly anything, but Felix is still let in on little things.

The questions, always about Felix, like he wants to learn more. The touches, easy and gentle, like there's nothing to them but simple comradery. And then there's his own body language, the way even now he leans casually back against the kitchen counter, both hands attached to it, showing off broad shoulders and a not quite neutral expression.

Asks what Felix wants to do for his next birthday, all the while seeming put out by the fact that it's already passed for the year.

Fucking weirdo.

Not that it stops Felix from taking the bait as he finishes up with his sandwich, loads a few extra spiced pickles up on his plate just for good measure.

The Neopronds sure do know how to make a jazzy pickle.

"I dunno, what we do every day, I guess?"

Not like there was much to do otherwise.

"With the addition of drinking until I blackout, probably. Now that I know we got the means for it."

Ends that with a shrug before taking his food out into the dining room, seemingly uncaring if Locus follows him or not.

  


—

  


Watching Felix play his game for the fifteenth time, Locus, relaxing quietly on the beanbag chair next to him, nudges his knee against an outer thigh to briefly grab his partner's attention.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Spoken just after the scene where the main character has a fight with his wife. Locus, for the most part, focuses on the video game in front of him in case there are treasures he'll need to spot for the other man.

More and more lately, though, it's gotten harder to pay attention to anything else in a room Felix enters. The man just has an enigmatic way about him. Always has.

At first, he'd tried to swallow it down. There was a time and place for questions, after all. Though maybe that only applied somewhere _not_ in the middle of the cold vacuum of space. Questions are sort of all Locus has now, and even then he's curious for every and any answer.

Consideration knits his brow, but Locus doesn't turn to look. Keeps his eyes peeled for any small glowing marks pulsating on the screen.

  


It had been weird at first, Felix is honest enough with himself to recognize that. After Locus came clean, so to speak, he started these questions up. Innocuous, just things that he didn't know and was apparently curious about, and really Felix couldn't find himself caring after the first time or two.

They weren't prying, weren't overbearing, so he didn't have a problem answering them, really. And the more questions asked, the less it was weird and the more it was just a little quirk of Locus that the guy had never shown before.

And, more and more, Felix finds himself liking all the little quirks he's being shown. Like how Locus isn't put off by miniscule displays of comradery, physical touch. Something Fi was in dire need of after such a long time in that metaphorical desert. It feels good, the way a hand touches his arm, or a leg nudges against his own.

Just cements the fact that he isn't alone up here.

Lately though, the questions have gotten a little ... personal.

Felix finds himself pausing midgame, just Nathan Drake standing still for half a second, before he's pushing himself back into motion.

Locus had asked if Felix has ever _been in love_ , and not only is that a little much because they've never delved into that before, but because Felix hasn't.

Been in love.

Doesn't know what that could possibly feel like. Hasn't known the feeling of love, period, since he was a little kid, and that faded away after ... well.

"Nope."

Pops the 'p' at the end of the word, but doesn't look over at Locus. Can't feel eyes on him anyway, so that helps quell the gurgle in the pit of his stomach. Doesn't have much more to say to that, so he doesn't.

Doesn't even try to lessen that particular blow, even as it cuts him on the way through.

  


"Really?"

In recent months (a few weeks over seven, to be exact), Locus has come to terms with the fact that he is not, and never will be again, a particularly expressive person. His movements are often subtle and precise. Though in certain moments—or, well, more accurately, in moments spent with Felix—he almost can't contain the natural body reactions that come to fruition.

Like the raised eyebrows, both of them, or the way he tilts his head to stare at the side of Felix's face.

"Never?"

The man is thirty-four. This is recent information. What isn't recent information is the string of sexual partners Locus would have to be blind to not notice.

His thoughts show clearly on his face, not necessarily because he wants them to and is thinking about it, but because he's come to realize he has nothing to hide from this man.

"What's your number, then?"

Locus hasn't exactly been keeping a running count, but with the way Felix is, his personality, his sly attitude, combined with the way he looks—

Yes, the logical conclusion is that his number would have to be fairly high. And with a higher number, there came the opportunity for more chances to fall in love.

If, that is, the man is capable of such a thing.

  


Expression on Locus's face can be felt, Felix doesn't have to glance over to see the raised brows, the confusion or something like it, written all over the guy.

It's only just recently that Felix realized Locus could make such faces, but he's growing more used to them, more comfortable with the fact that he doesn't have to dissect silences, or body language, to figure out what his partner is thinking. Sometimes it's easier, other times, not so much.

Kinda like now, actually.

Well, it makes sense in a way, as Locus asks a follow up question ( _What's your number?_ ) that he might not understand just what Felix gets out of his sexual relationships. He's there for the night, a quick one shot, doesn't even grab a number because he's just that kinda guy.

He's there to get off, get a little physical comfort for his troubles, companionship, but that's it and that's all it's ever been. He's had girlfriends, way back when, but even that had felt the same.

Could Felix love? Doubtful.

"It's pretty high up there, but to be honest I've kept better track of my kill count."

Easy information to divulge. Locus, of anyone, will certainly understand that. That he cares more about the conquest of killing, sating that inner rage and bloodlust, than he does about the people he's taken to bed. They didn't matter, in the end, but really neither did his kill count when he comes to think of it.

The thought brings a pout to his lips, unconscious, something he's been doing more around this guy. Letting what he feels truly show on his face, not some show to get something, but expressing to do just that.

"More women than men, though."

Throws that out there, uncertain as to why, but it comes much like the pout. Without conscious thought.

  


Interested in the answer, Locus doesn't realize he's staring until the moment he _does_. Notices the way pursed lips push out minutely, something he's come to see as one of Felix's "honest faces." When he notices the intensity of his own gaze, he turns his face back to the screen and gives the other man a more tempered side-eye.

The answer comes as both a surprise, and not. A rush of air huffs through Locus' nose. Amused. Should have known. It's such a _Felix_ thing, and Felix things have started to become quite the comfort.

"I would have imagined you killed more men than women."

A tease. Locus' voice tends to go flatter, duller, when that happens. It holds a double meaning, too. Yes, Felix is quite the lady's man. Locus has seen this first hand, time and time again.

But also—

Is it rude to think this?

Felix is, ah. Attractive. Objectively. In a delicate way. Delicate in the _purely_ physical sense, as such a word does nothing to describe the man's feral nature, his strength, how vicious and wild he can be.

No, there is nothing delicate about that. But—

Locus' eyes linger in places they've sought out before, only this time he processes the information provided in a slightly different manner.

High cheekbones. Tapered nose. The cut of his jaw, even with a bit of scruff around the edges. His hair has grown out some, but he still keeps himself tidy. Aristocratic fingers, the shape of his shoulders and how his waist cinches thinner than other men of his stature.

Delicate.

Locus looks away after that. A strange nervous heat curling in his stomach.

  


"Oh _hah_ , you're hilarious."

It's only then that Felix levels a look straight at Locus, something bland, showing just how amusing he thinks the guy to be in this moment. Though, it's not really true, because these little teasing quips are something that Felix has come to covet from Locus. Yeah, he'd done them before, but it felt more real now, in some strange way.

Companionable, instead of just saying something at Felix's expense. Not that he minded that either.

Though now that Felix is watching Locus, he catches the look evened at him and it doesn't feel anything like before. Like Locus is looking at him for some other reason just to see his partner sitting there. It's interesting enough for him to keep watching, even as he turns away he keeps his gaze upon Locus out of the corner of his eye.

Doesn't feel bad, necessarily, with the look, but it does make that squirmy feeling rear back within the pit of his stomach.

Everything is changing.

Good or bad, Felix has no way of knowing, but all he knows is that when he looks at Locus _(Sam)_ now? He sees a man, his partner. Doesn't look through him, at what is displayed alone, but he sees nuances and shape. Sees a human being.

Can't help but wonder what Loc sees when he looks back.

  


—

  


The day has been relatively good. Locus tries a new recipe with Felix (spicy szechuan beef, with thin strips of steak and red peppers, and a decent helping of garlic and other spices) and it comes across successfully. He brings out wine, and he doesn't know how to pair it with a meal, but it's white and sweet and good, just enough for a gentle warmth to cradle the back of his neck. He'd checked the SOS this morning, and though there had been no reply (of course), he hadn't felt bad about it like he has all the times previous.

Actually, it's been a very good day, given their situation. Morning training had gotten his muscles worked up. Felix had successfully pinned him in a complicated grapple they'd been working on. Locus couldn't even be upset about it—he'd just felt _proud._

So after dinner they had retired to the gym-slash-rec-room for some satisfying (though admittedly mild) violence on screen.

That's when the question spills from his lips.

"What are your siblings like?"

Lounging in the beanbag chair (which is still an insult to his very being unless he's significantly less sober than he currently is, by the way) Locus tips his chin just enough to point the words in Felix's direction.

It's been on his mind.

The thought of _five of him_ running around in this universe. He's surprised the whole galaxy hasn't caught fire at this point.

  


It's been a pretty good day for one Felix McStabby (self named and coined, thank you very much). Or, well, as good as it could be after almost a year trapped up in a heaping metal deathtrap with nothing but his right hand and Locus to keep him company.

Which is ... actually better than some days he'd spent on Earth, if he's being honest with himself.

Had started off on the wrong foot, some chilly chip on his shoulder that he could easily chock up to the remnants of some nightmare he couldn't quite remember, but he'd done everything in his power to shake it off. Met Locus in the rec room for some training and actually managed to master a rather complex grappling maneuver before heading off to the showers.

Managed to put that chip to the back of his mind even with a little _personal time_ before heading out for some more time spent with Locus. It was becoming more routine, them meeting back up after their respective showers to just hang out, doing whatever they wanted to, really.

Locus still checked the SOS call every day, but he seemed less and less agitated that nothing came up, though other than that, they were kind of attached at the hip. Not that Felix minded all that much, or at all, really. He was coming to rely on the guy for simple human contact, mental stimulation.

Mostly coming in the form of all the questions Locus had been interested in, lately. Once again, Felix didn't mind, though they varied from innocuous to more personal by the day. Still, this was his partner, what was there to hide, really?

A stance he quickly goes back on as they lounge together in the rec room once again, Uncharted playing in the background as Locus asks something Felix really should've seen coming. It isn't like he'd forgotten that he'd told the guy he wasn't an only child. Hell, he's the one that brought it up in the first place, playing their little drunken game all those weeks ago.

He just never really thought it would come back up. Had hoped it wouldn't, if he's honest.

But like with all things in life, nothing ever quite ends up in Felix's corner.

He pauses in his wild search for treasure (something that might be beginning to grow a little old, considering how much they play the game) but doesn't look over to meet the gaze he can feel on him. Doesn't pause for more than a second, as is customary for when Felix is taken off guard by something, which Locus is also doing more and more lately with all these stupid questions.

The guy doesn't know anything about it, couldn't know how sensitive a subject it is for him. No way for him to know that it sends a sickening chill right down to his stomach. That chip on his shoulder expands, finally overwhelming Felix in a way he can't brush off.

"Distant."

The word is almost immediate after his short pause, and it cuts off, quick and certain. A hard stop if Felix has ever made one.

But it doesn't actually feel very fair, not to Locus who'd come to him just a few weeks previous, opened up about something so close to his chest, Felix hadn't ever seen it coming. And it kinda wasn't fair to Felix, if he thinks about it, how it still hurts so deep and viciously he can't even think her name without wanting to vomit.

"I don't even know if any of them are even alive, right now."

He continues, expression shuttered, but his voice is even and nonchalant as ever.

Maybe, if Locus asks (or hell, maybe if he doesn't) Felix could ... something. He doesn't know.

  


It had seemed like an innocent enough question. Over a month ago, when Felix had found their store of liquor in the cargo bay, the man had brought up his status as dead middle in a family with five children, and the very mention of such a fact had implanted itself as something safe to ask about.

The other man pauses on screen, briefly, before squeezing out a single definitive word.

It isn't as if Felix had raised his voice. No trace of bubbling rage had entered the tone—Locus would know, so attuned to these miniscule things as he is now. But upon further inspection, there is a clear disconnect between the flat look in muddy eyes, and the flippant words that spill out a moment later.

This? Is a touchy subject.

Locus zips his lips for a full minute. Would like to say he has the power within himself to drag his gaze away from his partner, but he does not. He's left staring at the side of Felix's face, contemplating what to do with this new information.

Not push. That's a given.

But hadn't Locus recently spilled himself so viscerally all over the floor even just over a month ago? And Felix had been his strength in a moment when Locus had felt his lowest.

The next morning had felt like a sunrise, even if the light was artificial. They'd both dozed off in the beanbag chairs and Locus had slipped away on silent, bare feet. Had snuck back into Felix's room to grab his blanket and drape it gently over the other man's body to hold in some of that natural heat while he slept. Locus, who had retired to his room, had gotten approximately half an hour of rest, but it's all he needed.

It had been a _relief_. To be known. Seen. To take a plunge and crest the water, breathing deeper than he ever has before.

But, perhaps unlike Felix, Locus had _wanted_ to tell him. His partner had even given him the choice of opting out. Of letting his thoughts simmer, with no judgement for the repercussions of all the dark clawing through his brain.

They're different people. Though being told things about Felix doesn't matter, _knowing_ the man _does_. It's a bit jumbled in his head, but Locus is certain of a few things:

If given the option to not talk about it, Felix probably won't.

Locus doesn't want to pry, because hearing about the things that have moved this man isn't so shallow as that.

But he wants Felix to understand he is _seen_.

Clearing his throat softly, Locus turns his face toward the screen. Gives Felix a lidded look from the corner of his eye. Some even expression, open and honest.

"I've ... been told I'm a good listener. If you would like me to listen."

Where Felix had assured Locus he didn't need to say anything at all, Locus decides to assure Felix that he doesn't have to keep quiet.

They're partners, after all.

  


Silence ensues after Felix's brief, nondescript answer, but it doesn't feel heavy or weighted by anything other than Felix's own unwillingness to spew his guts all over the floor.

Locus had done it, had the courage or the will to let go, something. Whatever it was, Felix isn't certain that he has that, doesn't know if he wants to let go. Like letting go will make her disappear for good, and he's never wanted that. Only wanted to feel like it wasn't his fault, even though he knew there was no other way around it.

His partner's situation had been different. There was a break in, some scumbags had raped his wife, and he'd done what he thought would be best in that. Tried to make it better. It wasn't Locus's fault, but that didn't mean the same could be said for Felix.

He'd been a kid, sure, but he'd pushed and pushed. Made his parents spend money they didn't have, forced his siblings into a harsh situation, left when everyone needed him most. And yet he's the one that got out unscathed while …

Locus speaks up after a long moment, and Felix feels the heaviness of eyes upon him, but they don't feel like that weighty chip on his shoulder does. They feel soft, in a way. Just like when Locus asks all his questions, like he's only there to listen and reciprocate should Felix ever ask any questions of his own.

He had, a few times, just little things here and there, but nothing too concrete. He wasn't courageous in that, couldn't bring himself to ask even if he wants to know, because it isn't something that he does. People are something he uses, in one way or another, and the more he knows about Locus, the more he could use against him. He doesn't want that.

Wants to trust himself to not do that.

But maybe, this was the way into that. If Loc held just as much information over Felix, then neither of them would ever have an upper hand. Balance, just as they've always (relatively) maintained between them.

He takes a deep breath, something unconscious, as he comes to that conclusion. That maybe he shouldn't tell this to Locus for himself, after all.

"Bill was the oldest," Felix starts, some calm feeling rushing over him as he does so. He never takes his eyes off of Nathan Drake.

"William took after our father the most. Tall, dark haired, bright eyed. Always acted like the big brother too, lorded everything over us, picked on us until we learned to fight back. But he was always there when you needed him."

Felix swallows, the action clicking in his dry throat.

"Then there was Yvonne who looked like the mutt of the family. Hair too light, eyes too light. Green. A recessive gene."

This is all useless information, but it's what he remembers so he just keeps doing what he does best, lets the words flow from his lips until they become too much to stomach.

"She was always the nicest to me, I guess. Would at least pretend, if nothing else. Unlike Landon, younger brother. He was a snot nosed little shit from the moment he was born. Always picking fights with me cause I was only a year older, but he was bigger than me so of course he beat that dead horse into the ground."

He took after his mother, of course, like his sisters. Lithe and slender, light hair and dark eyes. He'd hated it growing up, learned how to use it to his advantage as soon as he'd joined the army. Had to.

"Then there was ..."

Felix trails off there, hands clenching tight around the controller between them but showing no other outward reaction to some internal struggle.

  


He processes the information bit by bit, eyes never straying from his partner's face as if his gaze can be made into something physical, a grounding link between them. Felix speaks factually. Almost conversationally.

That he speaks at all feels monumental, and Locus doesn't allow that feeling to slip his mind. He memorizes each name and attribute, in the order given to him. William, Yvonne, Felix, Landon.

A pause. Words trailing off.

The problem with Locus is, about two years before he joined the UNSC, he'd found a way to kill some necessary part of himself. It had been the best option available to him at the time, and no part of him regrets that decision. He'd learned how to go cold. He'd learned how to exist in some middle ground where nothing hurt, but nothing felt particularly good, either.

These last few months have been a reawakening. If he's honest, he's no doubt formed some unhealthy attachment to the man who sits beside him. Like some rampant variation of Stockholm Syndrome, only there is no warden, only another prisoner aboard a dying vessel.

Felix's fingers tighten around the controller. Where before this would illicit nothing more than a calculating observation, now Locus feels heavy.

Felix is going down the list, and he can't say the next kid's name.

What happened?

Steady lips don't even move to form the words.

Instead, Locus reaches forward. Rests his warm palm against Felix's wrist. Doesn't speak, or pull, or squeeze, or do anything to assert his presence into this moment, but only wants the other man to know he's not alone.

He's not alone.

  


Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Felix feels the weight of all the decisions he's made in his time alive and has to wonder just what exactly he deserves.

There aren't any redeeming qualities about him. He's brash and hedonistic, has killed so many people he's honestly lost count, and liked it more times than not. He cannot feel love, barely understands affection, and has an affinity for blood and violence so strong that even if he was capable of that sort of thing, there's no one to want him.

Why wasn't he chosen instead of his sister?

It would've ended up better for so many reasons. At least Isaac would've died knowing he was loved, before understanding the dark parts of himself and how to cultivate that over _feeling_.

Even here and now as Locus lays a hand upon his wrist and Felix feels the warmth there, the companionship, he wonders.

Does he deserve this?

"Rylie was eight, four years three months and twenty-two days younger than me, when I let her die."

Rips it off like a bandaid, not caring how much of himself comes off in the tear.

Nathan Drake stops stock still in the middle of a bustling city and Felix gets lost in the sounds of it, calling back a memory so vivid it's like it's burned into the back of his eyelids. Something he sees and relives every day.

"We went to this amusement park for my birthday, I begged for months, until my parents agreed to save up enough to take all of us. I wanted to go just me and my parents, feel like I was an only child for a day, but they told me it wasn't fair."

He doesn't realize his breathing is uneven. Doesn't feel the warmth of Sam's hand any more, only cold sweat that's starting to break out over his body like some stress fever.

"Rylie and I got separated from everyone at the end of the day. I was so pissed that I'd gotten stuck with her, having to ride kid rides even though it was supposed to be _my_ birthday."

Felix knows he'll never forget that feeling, doesn't know what it says about him that he remembers that just the same as the dread and terror and confusion of when Rylie had been found all those days later.

"So I left her. Standing at the cotton candy machine. I walked away from her and never looked back."

  


Locus listens with all his not-so-inconsiderable amount of patience as Felix talks and talks and talks, painting details and emotions, it's easy to get a little lost in it. So lost he forgets he's even touching the man. Instead, he can imagine a younger version of his partner, a childlike face, petulant and demanding, but not unreasonable is his desire to want something wholly _his_ , for his special day.

Something any child would want.

As the story unfolds, a sick sense of dread rises in the pit of Locus' stomach, as if driven through his skin from their small point of contact. What would that have felt like? Locus was an only child growing up, hadn't been spoiled necessarily, but the attention he did receive was all his.

Would he have felt starved for it, for anything uniquely _his_ , if he'd landed in the middle of a bigger family with unruly siblings surrounding him from all sides?

Felix had been given the responsibility of taking care of his younger sister. He was just a child, and yet he feels he failed in that.

The story isn't over. Locus parts his lips to say something, anything really, but words get caught in his throat and all he can do is release a slow exhale to try and deflate some of the pressure building in his chest.

He'd left her. Locus can put the pieces together, even without knowing the end. Felix already said she— _Rylie_ —died, and he knows as if by instinct that Felix blames himself for it. But ... that's not right. The blame shouldn't land on the shoulders of a child.

A sour taste curls on the back of his tongue. Unconsciously, his thumb moves to smooth over the knot in Felix's wrist. His face remains open, an intensity behind his eyes, a low fire building up to a more intense flame.

  


Lost in the crowd, so many years ago, there's nothing in Felix that feels Locus beside him. Doesn't feel the usual comfort of his favorite beanbag chair, or the way the television buzzes an ever so slight white noise.

The frigid pull of space could collapse around him and it's uncertain if he would feel death suffocate and freeze his lungs.

He doesn't stop talking though, Isaac has carried this since he was twelve years old, not daring to tell another soul in all this time. Now that he's started though, it's like his mouth and his brain are finally of one accord on the subject. He can't stop.

"Eventually I found Bill, everyone had split up looking for us and I'd never seen him more happy. He was so relieved he cried into my hair and it felt _good_."

There's a catch in his chest, one he speaks through, voice going rough.

"We couldn't find Rylie. Not for hours, we had to go to the police and I ... "

Isaac lets the controller fall from his hands, wide eyes locked on some fixed point across the room, gaze hazy.

"I told them everything. Not one person in that room ever looked me in the eye again. My mom and dad, my brothers and sister, they couldn't stomach the sight of me after that. Especially not when they found Rylie."

Terror strikes him silent as her face haunts him. Cold, lifeless, _scared_. Her face was frozen like that, when he'd snuck into the morgue to see her one last time. To say he was sorry.

Isaac couldn't even do that right. Ran away before saying anything.

"It was four days later in a shipping container, filled to the brim with other dead little girls. A smuggling ring took them, for sex slaves or drug mules. The ones who didn't make it ended up in that container."

Story, memory, concluded Felix doesn't move more than needed to breathe. Finds himself lost, expression shuddered, staring at the wall.

  


_Oh._

The weight in his chest expands, keeps pressing down, down, until Felix's story becomes unbearable to hear. But he listens. Quiet and steady. Doesn't think he could control the sticky, unexplainable sensation of some needed part of himself merging coolly with this dark piece of Felix's past.

The other man's voice shutters up, starts banging around in his hollow chest like some bruised and frightened thing. The controller drops, and all of it seems to meter out into milliseconds.

Locus widens his eyes and he doesn't see Felix there, no. He sees Isaac. The young, brash man he'd met in the UNSC when they were fresh recruits transferred to the same specialized platoon. How charming and intelligent he'd been. Imagines him carrying the weight of this guilt on his shoulders with a toothy grin. How he'd go to sleep at night and see those warped looks on his family's faces. 

His little sister just another limp corpse buried beneath a pile of quiet bodies.

Sex slaves.

Drug mules.

_I walked away from her and never looked back._

The pressure in Locus' chest collapses in on itself. Tears apart. His hand tightens without thought, into a bruising grip around a thin wrist.

When Felix had found out about his past, the thing that made him _who he is_ , his partner had mouthed off like an open flame, rocketed to his feet, pointed one firm finger right at the table, and spat fire at the very idea Locus could blame himself for what had happened.

Locus is not like Felix. Where Felix runs hot, Locus runs cold.

His grip doesn't relax.

He uses it to tug the man into place, to demand his existence be made known beyond the glassy haze covering his partner's eyes.

That's _Isaac_ in front of him. Empty and broken down. A quiet gathering of glass shattered years ago, pulling itself together every day—every goddamn day—alone.

Not alone.

When Locus speaks, it's calm, and low, and cold enough to freeze the air—every iota of rage bubbling up inside him, condensing into a more pointed, precise anger.

"You were just a child," he says, because it's the loudest thing screaming through his mind. "It isn't your fault. It has never _been_ your fault."

He doesn't care if Isaac believes him or not. It's a fact. It's simple. The truth of these words is plastered in a steel stare and too-tight grip. You don't blame the victim for getting robbed. You blame the man who robbed them. And Isaac? Had his sister stolen, his conscience ripped apart, his childhood buried in the dirt.

Isaac had been robbed.

And the men who did it? This drug ring?

Locus' eyes harden. He hasn't felt this sort of rage since _that day_. A monster shudders inside him, and for the first time since they've been trapped up here, that deadly, calculating, insidious part of himself shows itself with a steady expression so intense, his insides go numb with it.

"When we find the men who did this," he says slowly, calmly, like it's just the simplest thing.

"We won't kill them quickly."

  


Memories are something Felix keeps close to his chest, bad or good, it doesn't matter. It's some sort of escape, had been for as long as he could remember. Gave him something to know and feel for, other than pain or rage or that terrible lust for violence that could eat away at him.

His mind is a maze, however, twists and turns going deeper and growing more confusing the longer he's lost. Sometimes he doesn't want to come back and that suits him just fine, some illness in his brain to add to the rest of it, being able to get so wrapped up in the past that the present ceases to exist.

Felix understands that he would gladly stay locked in this for the rest of his life. Knows he deserves the pain of it, seeing her face, letting it haunt him until his dying breath. Doesn't believe there's a choice for him in the matter. It's always been _this._

And yet with one quick motion, Felix is left blinking over at Locus, who apparently has him by the wrist. The grip is so tight there will be bruises created, some pretty muddled blue and yellow and sickly green. It's something to look forward to, but not something Felix feels as pain in this moment. Even as he's yanked back into the present, eyes forced to meet Locus's, Felix doesn't feel much of anything.

 _You were just a child_ , the words trickle in slowly to settle deep in Felix's brain. Not the first time he's thought it, that he shouldn't have been blamed so harshly because he was a kid. But no, Isaac had known what he was doing, was petulant and selfish and cruel for even thinking of leaving her for one second.

It was and would always be his fault.

But Locus looks at him with such raw, cold conviction that Felix could almost believe it for a second. That he could be absolved from the pain of that in particular.

The guy keeps going, filling up the room in that dark, dangerous way he does, when Locus goes dead inside, numb and cold, and spouts off -- just as Felix had -- about making whoever hurt Isaac _suffer_.

God but doesn't that sound good? He's never allowed himself to think about it before, couldn't find them even if he tried back then, even when he was fresh in the army and learned some new tricks, he couldn't find out exactly what happened to claim his own swift vengeance. It was easier to give up, take that bloodlust elsewhere.

Now? It has nowhere else to go.

Felix blinks over at Locus, eyes darkening slowly, lips keeping their even, thin line as he just _looks_ at the other guy for a moment. Finds the rage within himself die down at the sight of Locus, feels himself simmer and slump back down into his chair, all fight burned out of him and fueled into the man beside him.

Doesn't speak, doesn't do anything more than take his free hand to wrap it around the one still bruising his wrist. Felix holds it tight, squeezes even harder until he can feel the bones in his wrist grind dangerously together.

A thank you, maybe, something in that vein. It's all he can give in this, all he can think to do, before Felix is letting go, turning away. Still numb and empty, scooped out on the inside, but he's there on _The Attie_ with Locus, and that's all he can do for now.

  


In such a state, _blinded by anger_ would be a good way to put it. The room is little more than a hazy black and white fuzz around the edges. Vision tightened by immense focus, Locus continues to watch Felix, and doesn't so much as twitch when the other turns a deadened eye his way.

Stares, for a long moment.

No words pass between them after Locus' promise (because that's exactly what it is), but a hand reaches out, grips his own in a crushing hold.

It's only then Locus realizes just how harsh his own grip is. An unthinking desire to cause pain, inflicted on the only person in the room. The one who deserves it the least.

His hand gentles below Felix's. The man removes himself from his touch and sinks back into the chair, seemingly exhausted after allowing so many small broken pieces of himself to slip from his grasp and dance on the floor.

Locus had watched this dance with no remorse.

Here, more than any other point in their shared history, he sees them as _partners_. A thread connecting them tighter than any known material. Shared hurt, the clawing need to survive. They've lived through so much, and now they'll die together. Here. As a single unit.

This man is his now.

Locus only wishes he could fulfill the dark fantasies swirling through his head, and bring every one of those sniveling drug ring bastards to justice. Not typical judgement metered out by a courtroom. _Felix's_ justice. As bloody and cruel as he would like it metered out.

After an indeterminate amount of time, Locus takes a deep breath through his nose and releases it slowly between the blank line of his lips, allowing his rage to settle until it dissipates entirely.

Reaches a hand out to touch Felix's shoulder. Something far more gentle than the bruise he's no doubt left on the other man's wrist.

"Wait here."

A solid command.

Locus leaves the room and makes his rounds with a steely determination. He's never been good with words. Not like Felix. But, a long time ago, he used to be able to express himself in another way. It might not be what Felix needs, but instinct drives him to help, like a muscle twitching.

He returns with two things. The blanket from his own bed, and a hot cup of coffee. He'd mixed in Felix's preferred amount of cream and sugar. Pauses, briefly, at the doorway to look at the other man. He doesn't look _present_. Which is fine, because Locus is, and as far as he's concerned, they're two halves of the same whole now.

"I'll be here when you get back."

He doesn't say anything else when he shoves the warm mug into Felix's hands. When he circles around behind the other man and drapes the large blanket over his shoulders. Maybe it's soft. Maybe it's too much. Maybe Felix will mock him for it later.

But Locus doesn't really care about all of that. Not here. Not anymore.

The game is saved, exited out of, and exchanged for some outdated sci-fi movie about _the future of space travel in the year 2040_. Highly inaccurate.

With a grunt, he drags his beanbag chair closer to Felix's and settles into it with about as much grace as is possible for such a ridiculous thing. Leg flush against the other man's own, above the comforter.

Stares at the screen.

  


Time slips between his fingers like so many grains of sand, impossible to count the seconds or minutes that pass, but there's the feeling that nothing has stood still for him. Felix doesn't think for a lot of that time, doesn't move, just leans back in his chair and lets his mind go blank for the first time in a long time.

He's tired now, after everything. After _everything_ , and the movement of the universe around him never stops. He can sense it outside the hull of the ship, stars colliding, people living and dying. Locus seems to come back into that as well, after some long, metered breathing.

Felix senses him move, but doesn't flinch as a hand is laid upon his shoulder. It's a warm, steadying weight, as it's come to be in the past few months that Locus has been more free with his touch. It would feel good if Felix was letting himself feel anything, but he isn't ready yet. Takes Locus's command just the same, because he isn't ready to move freely.

Likes this blank, easy feeling. He isn't thinking, isn't dwelling, has spilled too much of himself to even feel like himself in this moment, so he's drifting aimlessly for what feels like hours.

Knows it isn't that long before Locus is back, though he brings with him the tempting scent of hot coffee. Felix blinks at it as the cup suddenly appears in his hands and a warm, soft blanket is sprawled out over his shoulders. He inhales, but all he can smell is _Sam_ and coffee.

Breath catches in his chest, but Felix breathes.

_I'll be here when you get back._

Like it isn't so simple as Locus being there because he has nowhere else to go, nothing else to do.

The guy puts on a movie, makes himself a physical presence in the room, leg touching Felix's as he settles in.

Felix doesn't laugh or smile, doesn't poke fun or comment on the stupidity of the movie in front of them, but he does sink down into the beanbag chair, face tucked into the unknowingly soothing scent of Locus. Sips his coffee and only once it's empty does he nudge back against the leg touching his own.

Companionable, another wordless thank you.


	11. Scene XI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for all the comments and support! I'm a bit behind but we'll answer soon. ♥
> 
> —

Nine months ago, today, both of them stole an FAC ship and jumped Chorus in the hopes of escaping a years'-long job that led to nowhere. They managed to escape the job, at least. Coincidentally, as an anecdotal fact, millions of children in civilizations scattered across the galaxy will be born today.

On one of his darkest days alive, an uncountable number of people were getting ... intimate.

The fact crosses Locus' mind while he scurries about the kitchen preparing previously unthawed vegetables and meats. He exhales an amused sound.

"Felix," he says lightly as the other man passes through the room, trying to get his attention.

"Do you mind helping me?"

It's about two hours before he typically prepares a meal, but this one ... will take a bit more time. Not to mention the side dishes, which will take some forethought and finesse to time correctly so everything comes out hot, together.

He wipes freshly washed hands on a dish rag and tosses it over his shoulder. Crosses both arms over his chest, too-small shirt pulling tight, an open, questioning look in his eyes.

  


Time is a human construct, of this Felix believes one hundred percent, but that doesn't mean that, human as he is, he doesn't _feel_ the passage of such a thing.

Nine months they've been stranded up here on _The Attie_ with nothing more than a few games, movies, food, and each other. He and Locus have faced harder situations, but nothing that they've been through has had worse odds. Hell, The Great War was a cake walk in comparison to this.

They could fight their way out of that, at least.

Here, it was just waiting for an inevitability.

Felix was finding that it was becoming a whole lot easier to live with that, actually. Mostly because he had Locus, and that was weird, but not. They'd been partners for most of Felix's life. There was no better person to be stranded with, in his opinion. Though that was getting a little dicey in and of itself.

For various reasons.

And it's for one of those reasons that Felix finds himself kinda always wandering into Locus' space. This time was no different. He'd just been meandering into the kitchen under the guise of getting a drink, but it was mostly just because that's where Locus was and Felix didn't like to be alone for too long of a stretch at a time.

He doesn't expect to be called out to, though.

Felix pauses, easy expression upon his face as he turns to his partner, though on the inside he's a little warbly at the look of Locus. That's getting worse, but the stupid tiny clothing doesn't help, and that Felix _isn't_ getting used to at all.

Still, he shrugs and approaches.

"Sure, what's up?"

Of course he sees the display of veggies splayed out, but it's a little early for Locus to be preparing dinner, actually. Felix cants his head to the side leaning a hip against the counter, curious.

  


They've known each other for years, but somehow they'd always found a way to not really be in the other's presence for too long. Two apex predators sharing a room had always seemed like a bad idea. Besides, there was plenty enough outside stimuli to distract them. Locus had his bar, and his deep abiding love for quiet, and privacy. Felix had his …

Locus gives the man a sweeping look, no judgement in his gaze, just observation.

Clubs, probably. And women.

Out in the real world, with real people, there was never much of an excuse for them to spend time together. It kept their tempers in check. Made it easier to tolerate missions.

Locus wonders briefly in his musings if things would have been different if he'd opened up a little earlier. Or even, _much_ earlier. Back when they were still bounty hunters, before that title had shifted to something else.

What would they have become to each other back then? Would it have been the same? Better? Worse?

The thought sweeps from his head when Felix turns to look at him, agrees easily before even asking what the task is.

It's sweet. Locus hasn't asked him to help with the cooking because he _likes_ cooking, and doesn't mind doing it alone. It's nice to know, however, that Felix doesn't mind lending a hand when asked.

The half-smile that flits across one corner of his mouth is a helpless reaction to this knowledge.

"Well," he begins, unfurling his arms to gesture at a spread of unthawed vegetables sitting on the counter.

"I wanted to cook something different for dinner, but it takes a bit more work. I could use your help chopping vegetables, to start."

Another change inside him. The Locus of the past—even the _Sam_ that Felix knew—wouldn't have asked for help. With anything.

He doesn't mind asking Felix, though.

"And I've heard _someone_ aboard this ship is good with a knife."

Something wry, playful, crosses his features.

  


It strikes him, in that moment, that this isn't weird anymore.

Them, together, just hanging out or doing miscellaneous things. Locus seeking out his attention, or expressing certain things that he's definitely certain the guy's never really done before. At least that Felix knows of.

Hell, Locus could've been a completely different person to everyone else, now that he thinks about it. They never spent much time together other than missions or y'know, the army. Everyone was different then, and still, Sam didn't seem like the type to be anything else around pedestrians as he was around Felix.

Now, though, there's this nice little quirk of his lips that's becoming more commonplace. And he expresses what he needs, why he'd asked for help in the first place like it's a simple thing to do, when before? It would've been anything _but_. Hell, Felix is sure that Loc wouldn't have asked for help even if he was bleeding out on the floor, back then.

The guy even goes so far as to give Felix some cute little quip for his troubles, and it's too much and not enough all at once. This person is _his_ now, Fi feels it in his bones, but isn't, all the same.

It's easy to push those thoughts aside, however, and grin.

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

Speaks in some sing-song voice as he goes over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands really quick, but all his attention is latched onto Locus.

"What're you makin' anyway?"

  


That grin, well. It's been problematic as of late. Because there's been a warmth building at the base of Locus' spine for a while now and he's not sure what it is, but he certainly knows where it comes from.

Every time Felix laughs, smiles at him in a particular way, nudges back against him when Locus presses a hand or a leg to his side ... yeah.

The warmth builds a bit more, here, and Locus has decided to try and relax into it rather than fight against it. There's no point in fighting anymore. It's just them, until the end.

His partner immediately walks himself to the sink to wash his hands without Locus even having to say anything about it. If he grows any more fond for this man, there will be problems. Locus can't think of any right now, but the point stands.

"Ah, I don't know the name. It's a recipe my mother taught me to make. We'll bake the chicken with certain spices. Make a type of stir fry to set it on."

He removes the dish towel from his shoulder, folds it, and sets it on the counter. Grabs a large kitchen knife, surprisingly decent quality, and holds the blade lightly while spinning around to offer Felix the handle.

"Here. Peel the potatoes, mince the garlic, dice the carrots."

Turns and walks to his corner of the kitchen, grabbing another knife on the way to cut off pieces of fat from the chicken.

  


It's not that Felix is a complete and total heathen, in most cases, but being around Locus -- this iteration of the man, at least -- feels steadying in a way. Like he's calmed some strange storm that's always buzzed around in Felix's head, making him act unruly or over the top.

Here, he feels at ease, acts as he wants but maybe in ways that he'll also know Locus will appreciate. Just because that's _what he wants_.

It's not something he's ever fallen victim to before, that desire to please another human being, but it isn't all too bad.

Felix washes his hands without being asked because he knows Locus needs him to do such a thing, doesn't push back against helping, because he knows being here with Loc is maybe what the guy wants too.

It's ... nice.

And maybe Locus would like to offer up that same thing to Felix, he can't help but think as the guy grabs a nice looking kitchen knife, flips it around to hold out the handle for Felix to grab. He does so immediately, tests the weight of it out of habit, flips it around once, blade over handle, only to catch it in an even grip.

"M'kay, well if it's as good as anything else you've made, I'm down for whatever."

Replies cheerfully, even as he sets about peeling potatoes like that's ever a thing he's done before. Does it like he would whittle a piece of wood down, just scrapes a thin layer of dark brown skin away to reveal pale insides.

"What the hell's the difference between 'mince' and 'dice' though, mincing is just smaller or something?"

Asks because he honestly has no idea and maybe he just wants to do something right for a change. Even if it's just as menial as cutting up vegetables correctly.

  


_As good as anything else you've made._

The compliment reaches into him, shakes him up. It's offhand. Simple. Warming.

Locus is almost too distracted by it, but Felix moves behind him, and that serves as a different sort of distraction. Flips the knife, testing it, before moving to the potatoes already set out. Even just in the kitchen, the other man moves with a feral grace.

There would be something threatening in the way he holds a knife with such precision—if Locus' life hadn't been saved so many times by it.

Instead, he glances over his shoulder. Considers the question, because that's right, how would Felix know the difference?

"Exactly right."

A private smile graces his lips before he turns back to his task. Proud.

"The carrots should be larger diced cubes. The garlic, much smaller pieces."

  


Ey, here's to looking at context clues.

Felix gives himself a little mental pat on the back as he continues with the potatoes. Wouldn't want to eat giant slabs of garlic so it only made sense that mincing was smaller. Though it does give him a special little warm feeling in the pit of his stomach that he got it right.

Or maybe that's the smile that Locus gives him, something small and maybe not meant to be seen, but Felix had glanced up when Locus responded with his answer.

If Felix was the type to blush, he might do that here, but seeing as he's really not (unless drunk, or maybe mid coitus) there's no flush of red to his cheeks. His stomach just ties itself into a nice little knot of pleasure and Felix does his best to move on.

Which is really getting harder and harder, nowadays.

Because physical attraction was one thing, right? Locus is an attractive guy, all muscles and broad features, nice body with bright eyes and dark skin. Pretty, yes, handsome, definitely. But there's a completely new ballgame Felix is stepping into when he covets the guy's time and humor and the way he _smiles._

It's not even in a sappy way that he likes it, but more of a _hungry_ way and that's almost more of a cause for alarm. Because when Felix catches a scent he likes, there's no way he can keep himself from following it until it's caught in his maw.

"Sweet, sounds simple enough. Want me to chop up the potatoes too?"

Offers easily, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand instead of whatever fluttery feeling is beginning to settle in his chest.

  


"Yes, large pieces," he responds immediately. Maybe a bit too quickly, given that his attention should really be more pressed to the task at hand. He can't help how it zeroes in on Felix, however.

A result of living with the man for nine months, maybe. Or the simple fact that he's the only other breathing human in the room. But if Locus is entirely honest with himself, other people don't interest him that much.

Other people haven't interested him _this much_ , ever—not like Felix does.

For a moment, Locus gets stuck in his head, allowing his body to take over the motions of cutting while his mind drifts.

It's a strange thing to think about, really, and perhaps that's the biggest reason he hasn't leant much thought to it. Felix _effects_ him. That much is clear, but the depth of that effect has been showing itself more and more lately. Ever since they'd spilled their pasts to each other and come out on even ground, Locus finds no trouble with thinking of Felix as a friend.

Lately, that definition has been ... changing.

To put it bluntly, if he was the kind of man who _liked other men_ , it would much easier to define. Heightened pulse, adrenaline, cortisol. Eyes that linger in places unfamiliar to him—the span of muscle between Felix's shoulder blades, his ribs that lead to a tapered waist. Locus has found that he's already particularly fond of his partner's personality. Bright, intelligent, sarcastic, vicious, playful, determined.

To be fond of Felix's _appearance_ , however, is an entirely different matter.

The problem, though, is Locus has never considered these things in relation to a man. Which isn't _really_ a problem, he knows he can change, has changed, but how can he be sure these lingering looks and soft appreciation for the anatomy of Felix are what they seem to be if he has no previous basis for it?

It's all a bit confusing.

Distracted, Locus cuts into the side of his thumb and pulls it back with a sharp inhale of breath. Stares at the cut, not deep, brows furrowed and surprised with himself that he could have allowed his mind to drift so thoroughly.

He walks over to the kitchen sink and flicks the faucet on, delving his hand beneath the spray to wash the blood off.

  


Easy silences aren't exactly something that Felix has always found to be _easy._

He's a man of many words, anyone could tell you such, always something to say, hands gesturing, eyes rolling, quips or insults or just whatever he thinks -- it's all out on the table for everyone to see. Felix hasn't ever had anything like that to hide, though it covers him up, honestly. No one looks too closely if they think he's a babbling idiot.

But he isn't hiding here, and this isn't the first time he's realized that.

So no, he doesn't feel the need to fill up the space between him and Locus with words or movement, focuses on the task given to him like it's his only mission in the world, all the while keeping his partner visible out of the corner of his eye.

It's for that reason he immediately notices the quick, sharp inhale of breath from the other man. Hears it and sees the way Locus stiffens suddenly, knows immediately the scent of copper in the air and honestly doesn't know what to make of it. Felix is left blinking at Locus' back for a second as the man goes to clean off the cut on his hand.

How had that happened?

"Maybe we should leave the knives to the professionals, hm?"

It's a teasing thing, just to poke fun because Felix can, but he doesn't take his eyes off Locus at the sink. Wouldn't put it past the guy to chop off a finger and act as if it's nothing but a flesh wound.

"Need a plaster?"

Offers his help unthinkingly.

  


Another exhale. This one amused, when Felix speaks up.

The first month on this ship had been accompanied by Felix's infuriating silence. As of late, sometimes they fall into pockets of quiet, but Locus never feels alone in them. If anything, it's quite comfortable knowing that Felix seems relaxed enough to not have to fill the air between them with words—like just having Locus in the room can satiate the urge.

They've both grown, in that way. Locus finds he doesn't mind the chatter, either. Enjoys Felix's banter, because now he's _part of it_. Included. Conversation, quips, directed at him, instead of aimed over his head.

He raises a brow Felix's way. Turns off the faucet, a warm look in his eyes when the man offers assistance.

"No, it isn't deep."

Strides to a roll of paper towels and rips off a sheet, holding it with tight pressure to the cut so it will clot and stop bleeding.

While waiting for that to happen, Locus leans into the counter next to Felix, chin tilted up while he looks to the ceiling. After a moment, he averts his gaze back down, watching the other man with a considering look.

Has a question on his mind.

But would it be too odd to ask?

  


Never once do his hands stop in their repetitive motion, Felix continues peeling potatoes (only one left) even as most of his attention focuses on Locus at the sink.

The guy responds with something easy, that his cut isn't deep, and while Felix still wouldn't put it past him to downplay whatever he'd done, it isn't like there's not a trust there.

If Locus says he doesn't need help, then he doesn't need it. Just like he _will_ ask now, if he does.

It feels good to know that, actually. That there doesn't have to be any second guessing between them, even if it's just in monotonous, everyday things. Felix trusts Locus with his life and always has, but now it's a different way of living that Felix is handing over to this man.

So he doesn't move from his position at the counter, keeps his knife steady though he does keep an eye on his partner as the guy sidles on over to lean next to him. There's a somewhat pensive look on Locus' face, and Felix can't help but give his own cocked look.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Asks because he can and because maybe he'll get an answer. Whatever's on Locus' mind had been distracting enough for him to lose concentration with a weapon in his hand. It had to be something.

  


_Penny for your thoughts._

Felix knows, because he's attentive, perceptive, and a lot smarter than most people give him credit for—at least until they're held at the end of a blade.

Locus tips his head back down. Watches the other man's hands for a few long seconds. They're nice hands. Thin and long-fingered. He works effortlessly. It only took a bit of direction, and already the man is a great sous chef. Each slice measured.

Flicks his eyes up to look at Felix's face.

"How did you know you were attracted to another man the first time it happened?"

A bit prying, maybe. A bit backwards to even ask, definitely. But Locus wasn't blessed with finesse at birth, and this question has been circling through his head for a while now. If he has no basis to go off of himself, then maybe Felix's experience will lend him some clarity.

He doesn't dwell on the idea that this might shed too much light on the turn of his most recent thoughts. Understands it could, and even probably _will_ , but that doesn't matter, really.

If anything, Locus just wants to find some steady ground to even begin considering this change inside of him.

So he continues to watch Felix with an open expression. Curious and unassuming.

  


Keeping his hands moving always lends to some sort of inner peace in his head. Felix is always full of thoughts, innocuous and inane as they can be or devastating and enraging, it doesn't matter there's always some swirl of something there. Each outward gesture calms something within him, however, unless he's yammering on, because that totally counts too.

Still though, even with the knife between his fingers and potatoes becoming quartered on the little chopping block in front of him, Felix can't help the way his whole brain slams into overdrive as soon as words flow from Locus' lips.

There's an outward pause in him, though he doesn't know whether to feel stunned or not, considering Locus' propensity for random questions. Is it just that? Like " _Have you ever been in love?"_ or _"What were your siblings like?"_ \-- those had been out of the blue just the same.

Because, let's be honest, what else could it be? Nothing but a seemingly endless curiosity about Felix as a man who thought differently than himself, certainly.

Felix reasons this out rather quickly in his head, continues chopping up the veggies in front of him after half a seconds pause, like he hadn't stopped in the first place. Gives a shrug of his shoulders, but keeps his eyes firmly on the task at hand instead of looking up to gauge any type of expression on Locus's face.

"Just knew it, kind of?"

It isn't like he doesn't remember the first guy he slept with, some waif of a thing with a personality to match. He was slender and smiley, shy but in an endearing way that Felix couldn't resist at the time.

"He was pretty and blushy and I wanted to make him look at me with that expression. Not like I had some big gay freak out, but you know me."

Felix does turn to Locus then, flashes one of his signature grins.

"I take what I want."

  


A pause. Minuscule as it is, Locus notices. Consideration, then, because Felix speaks up easily after that, and Locus lets his gaze glass over momentarily while the information sinks into his brain.

_I wanted to make him look at me with that expression._

_You know me._

_I take what I want._

Each piece knits together, soft yarn that drapes itself over that inner fire growing at the base of Locus' spine. It's eaten up by the flame, becomes fuel for something he's been trying to make sense of.

"It's that simple, then?"

It makes sense, in a way. When he'd met Camila (as Sam, no hate or rage to fuel him), there had been no grand feeling, no "love at first sight." He'd gotten to know her. They shared a Biology class together. He'd grown attached to her smile, the way she laughed at him when he didn't understand something. How patient she was. How giving.

She'd been so different from the man in front of him now. Soft angles. A gentle demeanor. But similar, too. No-nonsense. Sharp, when pushed to anger. She could make friends with anyone in the room.

It had been a slow process, but at some point he had just known.

Locus stares at the grin thrown his way. All teeth and cockiness. There's merit in that. Felix is a different person, so very different, but Locus has changed from the person he once was, too, and has grown to appreciate other things. Finds value in Felix's indomitable spirit. His confidence. Likes those rough edges, and covets the kinder parts of him that seem only to appear for Locus' benefit.

Turns back with a thoughtful hum, hand squeezing around his cut thumb. He has some things to consider.

Question answered, he turns to Felix with a lighter air, raising an amused brow.

"Blushy? That's your type then, hm?"

  


Question after question with this guy, isn't it? Once he gets started, Locus just gets on a roll with it, apparently. Decides he wants to know and then delves into the information given, or finds what he wants to know. It's refreshing, in a way, that attention turned to Felix. He kinda likes that he'll be known so thoroughly before he dies.

But by this man, especially. No grand meaning behind it. Felix has always felt connected to Locus, in one way or another, and that connection has only grown. Pushed at the boundaries Felix has set for himself, but that's kind of nice too.

Feeling things that he never thought he would, that is.

"Nah, I don't think I have a type."

Said with another shrug, and this is true too. Felix meets Locus' amused look head on with one of his own.

"I like a little of everything, y'know, why limit myself to a _type?_ "

Because even if he did have a type, in the past, it would be an aversion. The only kind of person he'd never picked up were big guys, people who looked like they could have an advantage over him if he were to let his guard down. And now? That's kind of the _only_ type he has.

For weeks upon weeks now, that's all he thinks about, one body type with one face and one personality. Doesn't know if it's because there's no one else or because that feeling's kinda always been buried within him.

Not that it matters, he's going to take it to the grave and just live the life he can while he has some years left. Two, to be more exact.

Felix moves on to dicing the carrots, job not forgotten.

  


Makes sense. Felix gets what he wants, after all, and he's the sort of grand personality that wants _quite a bit._ Slowly, his eyebrow lowers to something slightly more manageable, but the amused tilt to his lips never quite leaves.

"Fair enough."

Locus brings his hand up. Unravels the paper towel from around his thumb and inspects it for a moment. No more bleeding. Satisfied, he turns to go back to the sink to wash his hands again, but pauses before extricating himself from Felix's personal space.

Glances over his shoulder.

"Good work, by the way."

Nods at the cut up potatoes, all uniform and the few diced pieces of carrot that already look well on their way to being perfectly metered out. Felix's focus on the task at hand has not slipped Locus' notice.

What would Locus' type be? That's ... a surprisingly easy question to answer. He's never been particularly interested in bodies. They're meat, lugging themselves along to accomplish inane tasks, daily. What attracts him, primarily, has always been a personality. Everything falls into place after that.

Which logically concludes that these strange thoughts towards Felix will certainly become problematic.

He gives Felix a long, sweeping look. Considering. Places a hand on the other man's shoulder in passing. Then gets back to work himself.

Pays more attention this time to avoid further injury.

  


When did praise become a thing for him?

Felix blinks down at the carrots he's cutting, a little stunned by his own thoughts as Locus gives him some easy compliment. It shouldn't be enough to make that warm swell in his stomach cinch tight in his chest, but it _is_ and that's going to become problematic real quick.

He's never really cared what anyone thought of him, not for a long time, at least. Felix knew what he was good at (everything) and yeah, he'd liked to show off in the past, but now he was just doing things as usual. Not to show off or grab attention, and still the words get to him.

Not as easy to shrug off, that flushed feeling in his chest, but it doesn't show. Even as he feels the weight of Locus's gaze on him, doesn't know what it means but it's _heavy._

"'Course it's good work, have you met me?"

Quips out because that's what he does, what's expected of him, and because it's easier to deal with the feeling in his chest when he's blowing out hot air.

"Need me to do anything else when I'm done?"

Not that he has anywhere else to be, anything else to do, but maybe Felix might be looking for a reason to stick around.

  


"Yes," he says, finishing up with cutting off unnecessary fat from strips of chicken. He doesn't expound for a moment, absorbed in laying each piece out in an oiled pan. Grabs a few shakers of spices and eyeballs the amount.

Satisfied with the look of it, he turns back to Felix.

He really doesn't need more help if he's entirely honest with himself. But he also doesn't want Felix to leave. Is only surprised the man gives him such an easy out by asking.

"You," he begins, with a solemn face but an amused light behind grey eyes, "are going to make us cookies. From scratch."

Baking is a matter of numbers. A chemical process that's all too soothing to perform. The thought of Felix making them cookies is also a highly amusing one. The man has murdered countless people—but, to be fair, Locus has done the same.

He doesn't really know why it brings him such pleasure to have Felix here in the kitchen with him, working alongside him like they have so many times in the past. It just does.

  


"Uh."

Felix mumbles some unintelligent noise just as he finishes up mincing the garlic, the last in his list of veggies to prepare.

"I mean cookies, yes. But if you're going to put any trust in my baking then we're both gonna die of food poisoning."

Lays that right out on the table, because as far as Felix is concerned, it's totally true. There's no way he could make anything from scratch and it turn out edible in anyway. Hell, he uses canned tomato soup in the only thing he's ever learned to cook and even that's pretty sketch half the time.

"Plus I don't even have a _kiss the cook_ apron, and that's always a staple in the fantasy, okay?"

Just talking to talk, but it's true. In every porn he's watched, the guy's gotta have an apron though to be fair he's wearing nothing underneath, but that's the only thing that could be considered a cooking show that Felix's ever watched.

Still, Felix marches himself over to the sink to wash off the garlicky smell from his fingers and doesn't leave once that's done. Doesn't know if he's going to actually try to make cookies or what, but hell, what's more interesting than spending time with Locus? Even if he does end up fulfilling some sort of unspoken murder-suicide pact.

  


"I'll tell you the recipe as you go," he says, stepping up to the sink once Felix is finished so he can wash his own hands.

Locus busies himself for a moment grabbing some mixing bowls to set out, along with the ingredients he'll need—flour, sugar, butter, eggs.

The eggs are going to go bad soon. That's one source of protein gone from their diets, but at least he'd portioned out the meals correctly so they wouldn't waste a scrap of food while living out their final years. No eggs, however, means a lot of baking options will be closed to them.

The next month, Locus plans to load his menu with sweets.

Felix's comment trickles in once everything is set up for him. Locus tips his head, brows pulled together, confused.

"I don't know what that means. What fantasy?"

Some things interest him, yes. And some things do not. It must happen, then, that whatever Felix is referencing is just another item on a long list of things that Locus, up to this point, has not been interested in.

  


Recipes aren't that hard to follow, right? Locus will list off things to do and Felix will do them, simple as that. Shouldn't be too hard, even though there's this overwhelming sense of worry that he's going to fuck it up and disappoint with his shoddy culinary skills. Ugh, why was this so weird?

It's going to plague him, now, maybe not in everything that he does, but in the things that he wants to be looked at for. Like cooking and grappling and fucking cleaning up after himself.

Felix is going to be looking at Locus and wanting that approval, now, he can just feel it.

That's what the sigh is for, as he watches the guy gather up ingredients. Felix has gone so far as to heft himself up onto a little corner of the counter area as he waits for further instruction, though he does change his tune a bit when there's another question lingering suddenly in the air between them.

"C'mon, you haven't seen anything like that? I mean, I know it's in places other than porn, it's like a thing. The guy cooking in nothing but a 'kiss the cook' apron as the girl swoons, or y'know drops to her knees. I've seen it both ways.”

  


"Not personally, no," he says, pausing for a moment to look over at Felix while the other man hefts himself up on the counter with light feet.

Imagines him in a "kiss the cook" apron.

It does nothing to dampen, or lessen, what Locus already gets out of looking at the guy.

"That's enough to get someone to fall to their knees, though? Cooking naked?"

His nose scrunches up.

"Unsanitary."

With his thoughts on the matter in the air, Locus puts some finishing touches on the main dish, adding half of Felix's chopped vegetables and putting a lid on it before tossing it into the oven. The other half he scoops into a large frying pan, and scours the room for another pot to make brown rice in.

Satisfied that his own job is set and ready to get started, he turns back to Felix.

Gets a heady shot of heat up his spine when his eyes trail unconsciously up the other man's lean frame. How he looks so relaxed, set up as he is on the counter. How everything about this feels right.

Clears his throat of a surprising roughness.

"Mix a stick of butter, one cup of white sugar, and one cup of brown sugar, to start. Until it's smooth."

Easier said than done.

He turns, cleaning up his area for the moment.

  


A laugh escapes him, something easy and light for the moment as Locus dishes out his opinion on cooking naked. He's not wrong, of course, but that wasn't exactly the point of it all. Trust this guy to glance over anything that could be sexy, just to get down to the point.

It's something Felix finds he likes about Locus, though, how he's so completely opposite of Felix himself. It's something he's noticed before, in this kinda context, how Locus never seems to look at anyone more than once.

Just another reason Felix has to keep this _whatever it is_ in his chest from spilling over. Locus was probably (not only) straight as an arrow, but asexual to boot. Or like one of those mate for life types, and he'd had his fiancé and that was it for him. Something like that. Not something Felix has ever understood, but there's no other person in the known universe that he respects more than the man in front of him.

So yeah, not going to happen.

"Alright, this is your funeral, big guy."

Felix hops down from his little pedestal to set about mixing his ingredients. Does so without complaint, making certain to pay the utmost attention to exact measurements. Once he's got it all in the bowl, however, Felix can't help but jump up back onto the counter where he'd been nice and comfortable before.

Sets about mixing and can already tell it's going to take _forever_.

"This is going to take forever isn't it? You gave me the shit job, I'm mad."

Says as much with a playful pout.

  


All movement, so unlike Locus himself, it's fascinating to watch the man flit about the room. Locus finishes up cleaning his area. Not much left to do other than allow the chicken to cook for a bit before taking it out and mixing it in with the stir fry.

He has time to watch.

Graceful motions, off the counter, how Felix seems to take each measurement like it's the most important shot of his life. How he hops back up, getting comfy, and that purse to his lips when he realizes the job given to him isn't exactly a simple one.

Locus trusts the man's competence, however.

Gives a light shrug, turning back to add varying spices to what's waiting for him in the frying pan.

"It keeps you here longer."

  


Felix is left staring at the back of Locus's head as the guy turns back around to fiddle with the rest of the food, after dropping that hot bomb right in his lap.

Rude.

But it feels really fucking good, to kinda know that Locus doesn't want him to leave in the same way Felix wants to stay. They're all they have now, but it doesn't feel forced, doesn't feel anything but right.

"Not like I wasn't going to just sit up here and watch you anyway."

His own voice is a little tight, but he doesn't bother to clear his throat to bring further attention to it. Merely keeps his head down after that to make sure he's stirring his concoction correctly.

  


"I'm not wearing a _kiss the cook_ apron, so I assume it would be far less entertaining."

Said while mixing the vegetables together, making sure they're evenly covered with the spice mixture. He turns on the oven, then, but can't quite pull his mind away from the niggling thought in the back of his head.

_He would have stayed regardless._

Locus understands that a sort of codependency has developed between them. They're all the other has. But it still feels nice knowing they're on the same page about it, as well. That he's not alone in his desire to be around Felix during every waking moment.

Some of his sleeping ones, too, though that thought hasn't had time to fully develop, yet.

He turns back, watching the pull of muscle along Felix's arm as he works to smooth dry and wet ingredients together into a soft mush.

  


"For you, maybe, cause I ain't falling to my knees without that apron."

Definitely untrue, but it ain't like Felix is going to out himself on that front any time soon. Giggles to himself about it, actually, the kind of laugh that isn't quite amused, but not _unamused_ either. Resigned? But not mad about it.

Whatever, his head is a weird place that's only getting weirder by the day. Getting that space madness.

God though, he really did get the shit job, his arm is already getting tired of stirring this garbage together. How was this supposed to even become soft? It's just clumpy and gross looking.

"This job is bullshit and I'm never letting you talk me into this again."

Still doesn't look up from his duty, however, because now that it's harder than he'd thought it would be, Felix is even more determined to do it correctly. That'll show Loc, and he'll beg off from ever doing it again. Take that, jackass.

  


_Hm. Now that's a thought._

Felix, on his knees. For _him_. It's been a long time since anything remotely resembling that has happened for Locus, and the idea of his partner—

If he isn't careful, the heat in his spine will burn up his insides. It's enough to make Locus freeze, head taking the image to entirely inappropriate places. Imagining scenarios has always been something his mind just _does_ , though, and he's been on the edge of such thoughts before with this man, but there's always been some sort of more pressing matter to distract him from them.

Now, there are no distractions.

He wonders what Felix would look like, between his legs. Eyes fiery, mouth open. How he'd settle, and Locus could run his hand through the other man's hair just to see how soft it is. 

Wonders how soft his mouth would be—how warm.

The spoon in Locus' hand drops into the hot pan. Makes a clatter. He curses softly, grabs another utensil to fish it out.

"Noted."

It's the only thing he can say at the moment that won't detail exactly how gruff his voice has gotten.

What had Felix said?

_Just knew it, kind of._

Locus would prefer a pie chart of some kind, thank you very much. Or …

Well.

He could try something, actually.

Spaces out staring at the stir fry, head filled up with things that really have nothing to do with cooking.

  


Clumsy isn't exactly a word that could be used to describe Locus, but there is that quality about the man today, apparently. First off, the guy had totally gotten so up in his head that he'd cut himself while chopping up something for their dinner, and now there's another dull noise that draws Felix's attention.

He looks over in time to hear a curse spoken under Locus's breath and see the fallout of where a spoon had fallen into the hot skillet on the stove top.

Felix can't help the way his brows shoot up, curious and a little stunned. Has he ever known Locus to be less coordinated than a machine? Even when he wasn't at his best, there was never a hair out of place.

Interesting.

"What's gotten into you, today?"

Asks because he can and Felix isn't generally the type to beat around the bush, not with Locus of all people, especially. Though really, he wants to make sure his partner is alright more than anything. Finds that realization isn't as startling as it should be, either.

  


Called out. It _is_ a failure in basic motor function, so Locus understands the curiosity. He's a bit disappointed with himself for putting himself on the spot, however.

For all that Felix says about _taking what he wants_ , never once has he approached Locus in such a way. Clearly, the other man isn't interested in him. Not like that. Which is perfectly fine and more than acceptable. Locus can retain his feelings of simple affection without ever having to cross certain lines.

Felix is _his_ —his partner, and lately, his confidante.

What could make the situation difficult, however, is if Locus trampled their connection with wild thoughts that are only just half-formed in his brain. He doesn't mind Felix knowing, if it turns out to be what he thinks it might be. But if it isn't that, there's no point in saying something only to suffer potential negative repercussions for a fleeting idea.

No. He'll have to explore the option alone. Tonight. In ... the only way he can think to explore it.

"My mind is elsewhere," he admits. Doesn't want to dance too close to a dangerous topic, but he's never lied to Felix before and he doesn't intend to now.

  


Huh.

Well, Locus doesn't sound pissed off about it, not cold or detached in that way he can get. Doesn't sound particularly thrilled about whatever's going on in that head of his either.

It's not in Felix to poke though, he has come to the understanding that if Locus wants to share something with him, then there are certain breadcrumbs to follow, if nothing else. The guy just usually comes out with it nowadays, actually. They've grown closer in their time together, here on the ship.

Close enough for Felix to be able to let this go without much thought. He'll know what's up when Locus wants him to.

"Just try not to burn the place down, I plan to make the best of the remaining two years we got."

So there's nothing more than that and a shrug to Felix's shoulders at the answer he's given, for the moment. Though he does finish up with his own task before jumping off the counter to show off his handiwork.

"This look finished to you, Loc?"

  


Thankfully, Felix drops it.

Another change Locus has noticed over the last nine months. Where before the other man could pester him to within an inch of his life, not because he cared for the answer, but simply to _know_ , now Felix respects the reply given like it's simple for him to do so.

Locus is immediately warmed. Endeared. Pleased with the trust given to him, and maybe that's why he would like to figure a few things about before spilling these particular thoughts in the other man's lap.

Felix's trust is important to him.

He turns around at the sound of his partner slipping off the counter. Peers into the metal mixing bowl. No clumps, everything nice and smooth.

"Perfect."

Glances up to Felix with a bright look.

"Alright, now mix in two eggs and two teaspoons of vanilla extract."

Locus has no idea why the other man doubted his capability with this task. Felix has been attentive and helpful, and beyond that, the man is good at everything he chooses to do.

Competency is a rather attractive trait. Just another nail in Locus' self-built coffin, apparently.

  


Given the go ahead as he is, Felix sets out immediately to continue his task. Doesn't know what about this has driven him to seek perfection and praise from the man in front of him, but really Felix gave up on trying to understand himself a long time ago.

There was no reason _why_ , only the bone deep sense of satisfaction, so why even bother to question it? Wasn't like he was hurting Locus by relying on this, a bit, so what did it matter if Felix was a little clingy?

"Alright do we have any exact small measuring thingies? They seem more accurate than actual spoons."

Mumbles the words half to himself as Felix sets about digging through the kitchen drawers, searching for what he needs.

_Perfect._

The word is still ringing in his head and fuck all if Felix doesn't want Locus to say it again. This praise kink has reared its head at a really awkward time, but Felix has always been good at rolling with the punches. Has taken his attraction to Loc pretty well so far, and that's certainly not something he plans to drop the ball on.

  


"We do," he says, amused by the sincerity of the question, and points to a drawer just left of the sink.

"After that, you'll want to dissolve one teaspoon of baking soda into two teaspoons of hot water, and mix that in as well. Half a teaspoon of salt. Three cups of flour. And as many chocolate chips as you want."

He rattles off the numbers, the recipe long memorized, then turns back around to stir his vegetables, ensuring they don't stick to the pan.

Why does this feel so nice? He's gone nine months without Felix's help in the kitchen, but having the man here now only edifies the entire experience. He gets to see firsthand that focused determination that's always been such a positive feature within the other man. And it's _interesting,_ because for as confident a man Felix is, he seems set on ensuring he does this right.

Tonight, Locus thinks, pulling the spoon in his hand away from the pan so his distracted thoughts won't prompt him to drop it again. Tonight, he's going to pleasure himself. He's going to think about Felix while he does it. And if thinking about Felix while doing that stirs something within him, then he believes he might have an answer to the quandary that's been plaguing him these last few months.

What happens beyond this little experiment, well. Locus doesn't have the answer.

He glances back over at his partner. Eyes lingering on the strong line of muscle along his shoulder blades. Trace down his waist, then back up.

Takes a mental picture to better paint an image he plans to sink into, tonight.

  


In immediate response to his question, Felix is pointed in the right direction to find the measuring thingies he'd asked for. Of course they were in the only kitchen drawer he happened to pass over for whatever reason, but once again he's given up on questioning the strange decisions he makes. So it's with a little hum of victory that he retrieves the spoons.

Now that he has them, though, Locus continues to spout off instructions that don't exactly go over Felix's head, but there's _just a lot of them_.

He's left blinking at the teaspoon in his hand, free fingers reaching for the tiny bottle of vanilla on the counter.

"Alright you're speaking gibberish, man, one thing at a time."

Not that Felix has forgotten any of the words exactly, but still he can't help the want to do this _right_. It won't be perfect by any means, no matter what Locus says, but Felix wants it to be as close as possible.

He goes through the motions of it all anyway. Gets through dissolving the baking whatever in water, mixes it in with the salt and flour. Guesses it looks alright, but wouldn't really know cookie dough from a mud hole in the ground.

Looks to Locus for guidance.

  


He has to look away at some point. Felix moves through the room with purpose, finds the proper utensils, sets about following Locus' instructions, and it really should be rather mundane, but he captures Locus' attention without thought.

Maybe it's the simple fact that there isn't anything else on the ship that moves, breathes, changes. Like attention leant towards a spot of red in a world of grey.

"You have a photographic memory," he reminds the other man, turning back to the stove-top while he speaks.

Has already caught a glimpse of Felix doing each step with precision, despite Locus not saying it "one thing at a time," as requested. Nearly a year off the battlefield, but even here his partner shines and nothing could convince Locus otherwise—not even Felix himself.

After a moment, the hair on the back of his neck raises, and he experiences the distinct sensation of being watched. Turning, Locus finds soft brown eyes looking to him.

Not in contempt.

Not with that sarcastic slant they often take on.

But an open look that flickers across Locus' mind as one of vulnerability.

If he reached out now, he knows, without doubt, that Felix would be too surprised to do anything about it. His guard is down—completely down. The man has placed an unthinking trust in Locus, enough to let it show.

With a slow breath, Locus takes a step closer to Felix, tilts his head down to peer into the mixing bowl.

"Good. Now, tablespoon portions, rolled into a ball. Set them one inch apart on the cookie sheet."

Glances back at the oven. His seasoned chicken should be seared enough to begin cooking it in the pan with all the other ingredients. Locus grabs a large oven mitt, pulling it over long fingers, and pulls out his own dish, shutting the door to trap the heat in. Temperature is set already. 

At this rate, everything will be finished in a timely manner, all together.

Turns back to Felix with a pleased curve curling along one side of his mouth.

"You can put them in when you're done. For twelve minutes."

Pause.

"Thank you."

  


Something has been building between the two of them for days, weeks maybe. Neither have talked about it, or brought attention to it, but it lingers like a fine mist around them, floating gently around the rooms they inhabit together.

Felix feels it like a caress at times, like a soft hand at the back of his neck, one that glides across his shoulder, or down his back. It's nothing overwhelming, but it's warm and undeniably _present_. Comfort, maybe, camaraderie that has taken a physical form. Something he's never felt before, but it presses against the bounds of his attention and sticks like sweet honey.

Locus feels the fog too, Felix can see it written on the guy's face at times, but especially in these quiet moments together.

When they're just there for each other.

It's in the slow way he turns and steps close, the quirk of his lips, the calm pleased tone of his voice as he thanks Felix for no real reason. And it's honestly just that. They're just here for one another, so they aren't alone, or separate. Felix understands all the different things he's being thanked for, in this instance.

It makes him look away, overwhelmed. Makes him want to press forward against his own boundaries to lean his head against Loc's shoulder just to feel the comfort of being with the one person who's ever seen him for who he truly is.

The urge is covered up with a smile, something soft and genuine.

"Yeah, no problem."

Looks away just as soon as he'd met Locus's gaze, unwilling to give himself away with how easy and soft he feels for this person in this moment. Felix sets about finishing the cookies instead.


	12. Scene XII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing and wonderful comments! This chapter's a little rushed editing-wise, so if you spot any mistakes please let me know.
> 
> —

Three days isn't necessarily a _long_ time, but there's a difference in the way normal people understand the passage of time, and the way Locus feels it. Or processes it. Whatever, who knows how the guy works, really, all Felix knows is that he's toeing a mark with missing out on so many of their sparring sessions.

It isn't like he doesn't like them, or doesn't want to do them, hell they give him _life_ half the time. Fill him with some primal feeling, fighting a predator such as Locus, even if it is in such a controlled environment.

So no, he doesn't mean anything like that by missing out on them, but he's been having some ... issues. Lately.

Some issues better left unfounded by the other person in the ship, mainly because they're all stemming from the guy to begin with. Locus is a force to be reckoned with, apparently, no matter which way that's spun. He's wormed his way into Felix's head something so fierce, Fi is having a hard time reconciling all the different feelings floating around in there.

He's known that Locus was physically attractive for quite a while now. Yeah, it was pretty obvious and easy to take, even when Felix found his thoughts drifting to the guy as he was getting _down to business_ , so to speak. It wasn't like that was any big deal either, he was the only physical body Felix's had to look at for the months they've been stranded on _The Attie_ and he has needs, goddamnit.

What isn't quite so easy to take is the way that's all kinda transformed into something more. How Felix doesn't just think of Locus as a man with pretty dark skin and light eyes, broad shoulders, but as a _person_ with a nice sense of humor and a gentle smile. How the guy can just look at Felix and make his skin feel all hot and tight, but it's with such softness that Felix honestly doesn't understand what to make of it.

And that's all just in his head.

Having to deal with the real thing is overwhelming and he's needed some time off from the physicality of sparring to make sense of his own thoughts on everything.

It hasn't really worked out, but it's kept Felix from popping a boner in the middle of grappling so he really can't complain about his own tactics too much. Only the fact that Loc is sure to catch on if he misses one more session.

Thank God for weekends.

He gets two more days of figuring his own shit out (though currently he's not doing much other than dicking around in the cargo hold trying _not_ to think for half a second) before he has to try and weather the particular storm that is long fingers, soft dark hair that's finally starting to look a little more normal, and those stormy grey eyes that pierce through his very soul.

Who knew this was going to be so hard?

  


There is nothing in the world more disappointing than poor time management. Well. Maybe in a typical life, one filled with more than just the hull of a ship, there could be more disappointing things, but Locus has kept a particular schedule for a particular reason, and Felix, for the last three days, has _blown him off._

A thought that makes him pause on his way to the cargo bay—the last location to check.

No, Locus isn't angry. No one can make Felix do something he doesn't want to do, and the man has been rather dedicated to their sparring sessions for just over ten months now. But this swift change in schedule has got Locus a little worried.

Order in this chaos keeps them sane. Knowing that there are certain things to do at certain times brings a modicum of purpose to their continued existence, and Felix's disappearance concerns him.

Is he okay? Is he getting lethargic? Has depression set in?

With these thoughts at the forefront of Locus' mind, he approaches the cargo bay with a gentler air than he otherwise might. Spots Felix among an open container with various bottles of liquor scattered on the floor, some lined up neatly in a row, while those closest to him seem arranged in a disorderly half-circle.

"Felix."

It's been about three hours since he last spotted the other man for lunch. Not much time in the grand scheme of things, but on such a small ship, and with Locus having gotten thoroughly attached, it feels like an eternity.

Which, honestly? Is problematic in and of itself. Ever since _that night_ , a month and a handful of weeks ago, Locus hasn't changed much outwardly, but his internal dialogue has taken a rather dangerous turn.

He pleasured himself to the thought of Felix. His hands, his mouth. The thought of waking up to that smile and nosing against the scruff at his jaw. After this preliminary exploration of his own thoughts and feelings, Locus had found he rather _liked_ the idea—and had continued to imagine it.

Rolling into his back and pulling the smaller man on top of him just so they can grind lazily into each other and Locus can feel his heartbeat. Spreading Felix out atop his bed and dropping to his knees at the edge of the mattress, lips and tongue working with the simple goal of driving his partner to a mindless, lax state.

Locus had been surprised with how appealing these images had been, and the frequency with which they occurred.

He's kept a tight lock on these thoughts, however, even when they flash before his eyes at inopportune moments. Like this one. Felix bent over inspecting the bottles scattered around him. How Locus should approach him with anger or frustration for ignoring the importance of their schedule, yet his body and his brain hold only a soft exasperation, and most of his focus lands on the need to actively curb his desire to stare for too long.

A hand comes up to brush aside shoulder-length hair—over ten months of growth. A single eyebrow raises in question.

"What are you doing?"

  


It isn't like Locus showing up wasn't fully expected, right. They've kinda been up each others asses for months now, always seeking one another out, pushing into places or situations where they otherwise wouldn't just to be near one another. It's nice to feel like he isn't alone in that feeling, but Felix really couldn't use a few more minutes of mental prep.

As it is, he just doesn't look over at the sound of Locus entering the cargo bay. Doesn't bother to extract himself from his current ... whatever he's doing. Organizing their liquor, apparently, though it's only now that Felix recognizes he's doing anything at all.

He's been so up in his head lately, trying to sort through what he's thinking versus what he's feeling, and how to make sense of it all. There's nothing more difficult, apparently. Except maybe lying to Locus. Er, well, it's not lying per say. Just not telling the whole truth, which wouldn't generally be a problem, but _the thoughts and feelings_ thing is kinda getting in the way of that.

Long story short? Felix is boned, and certainly not in the way (or by the person) that he wants to be.

"Organizing our booze. What's up?"

His reply is succinct, but doesn't come out pinched or short. Felix feels more at home with Locus in the room, after all, even with his head all up in a tizzy, just the feeling of the other man close is enough for Felix to relax the tenseness of his shoulders.

Sounds more amiable than anything for a different reason too, he has to keep up the façade of it. There's nothing he wants less than for Locus to see past him in some way, to know that Felix is having these urges and wants. Fucking _embarrassing_ to fall in lust (or more) with someone who'll never be able to look at him in the same manner.

  


Organizing the booze.

Locus allows his face to fall into a more neutral expression while he glances over the organization in question. Nothing makes sense at first glance. Tequila mixed with vodka. Wine paired with rum. It takes several long seconds of internal processing for Locus to even recognize that the colors of the labels are grouped together.

Perhaps it's Felix's own congenial mood, the friendly tone he responds with, but any hint of fight dissipates the second the other man speaks, and Locus finds himself leaning his hip against two stacked crates, arms crossing over his chest in a relaxed stance. Stands just far enough away so he doesn't end up looming over his partner.

"Well," he begins, extracting one arm to scratch at the back of his neck. Small human gestures that he would have stamped down months ago, but Felix makes him feel comfortable.

Makes him feel like it's okay to be a person.

"You haven't been to our sparring session in the last three days."

There, band-aid pulled off. It's best to just state what's on his mind.

Well. Most of what's on his mind. Because all those other, far more dangerous thoughts are ones he's kept close to chest. It wouldn't be right to reveal something like that—these images that fly through his head every time he deigns to please himself. These images that fly through his head that _prompt_ him to want to please himself. There's no telling if Felix even sees him in such a manner. There's no telling if Locus' mental and emotional attachment would be welcome, on top of physical intimacy.

It's all a bit heavy.

He clears his throat.

"I ... wanted to make sure you were doing alright."

Lowers his hand from the back of his neck, head turned in a somewhat embarrassed pose while a warm fluster eats at his stomach.

  


There it is, just as expected, but that doesn't mean an answer is any easier to give.

Felix is left with a sense of something like dread, not nearly as imposing or heavy, but it's like he's standing on some sort of precipice looking over the edge. He could jump or he could back away slowly and live to see another day. Not that jumping was anything guaranteed, but the thought of not surviving the fall is enough to make him hesitate.

This is what Locus has done to him, make him second guess his own thoughts and feelings whereas in a different life, Felix was known to jump without looking twice.

It's the thought of losing this, however, that gives him pause.

Felix flops down onto the floor completely to sit cross-legged, does so with a sigh he makes certain not to externalize. Grabs his ankles to steady himself as he leans back, head cocked in a way to let him look up at the man now standing behind him. Locus is close enough to feel, but doesn't loom over Felix in any way.

It's nice. It's not. Felix wants to be alone with his thoughts, wants Locus to press into his space until their body heats mingle and neither can tell themselves apart from the other.

"Yeah, m'cool."

He settles with, eventually, expression open and truthful, even if it's not the whole truth. Because Locus is here, so yeah, Felix doesn't feel bad or weighed down. Feels like he could flip around, nudge closer until he's on his knees for the other man. Press even closer than that.

"Just felt like sleeping in the last few days."

Also not untrue, though it isn't like that's happened at all. Isn't like he hasn't been pondering over this almost obsessively to get to the point in his own head so he can just move on with his life. With his meager few years.

And that was just the crux of the problem, wasn't it? They only had a few years left and Felix could _have this_ , if Locus was the type to allow such a thing from him. No matter that they're close now, that they're honest friends, it isn't like Felix can just look at the guy and give in when he's certain that wouldn't be reciprocated.

No matter how much he wants.

How much he could see himself pressing close to that shy stance, lean up to get those smiling lips pressed to his own. It's those thoughts that let him know he's certainly in over his head. That he wants this stupid softness all the same that he wants to touch and taste.

Another internal sigh, but the expression on Felix's face never falls, never moves from the gentle affection he hasn't realized it's adopted.

  


What an endearing look.

Though his head is turned as if to brace himself against the brunt of his own feelings, Locus still pays close attention to the man in front of him. Watches Felix curl into a cross-legged pose and tilt his head to better look back and up at him.

A light in soft brown eyes, the lack of creases around the edges, is an expression that has been given to Locus more and more these past couple months. Trust. Companionship.

He shouldn't want for more.

And yet, he can imagine it now. Taking one long step forward to press into Felix's space. Reach down to curl fingers around both cheeks, keeping his partner in place while Locus bends down, down, down to press his lips against that gently smiling mouth.

His gaze lands there for a long moment before Locus finds it within himself to drag grey eyes away.

"A schedule is important," he begins, though the admonishment is half-hearted at best.

Honestly? He just misses Felix.

Which makes no sense, because they're quite literally trapped together, and are around each other almostly constantly save for those few dark hours meant for rest. He opens his mouth to say this, but stops himself before the words come out because it's a bit _much_ , isn't it?

Settles with a sigh, instead, hand rising to rub two fingers along his brow while he internally berates himself for thinking such foolish thoughts, and feeling such foolish things.

He drops his hand and gives Felix a once-over with no creases along his forehead or anger in his eyes. Just observation. A quiet one. A look that lingers, that can't help but appreciate the lines of a prominent clavicle, the cut of a sharp jaw, the lean muscle on upper thighs and biceps.

"I would like to train with you today," he says, mostly to save face for having stared a bit too long.

"We can do a short session, half an hour. I ... believe routine is the most beneficial thing for us, right now."

  


There's something to read from this, Felix is sure of that.

Can see the way his actions give Locus pause, the way the guy just _looks_ at him with that subtle look in his eye, gaze travelling over Felix's face only to land low and linger.

But like hell Felix knows what it is or even how to react to the signs that are showing themselves. Hell, he's sure he's giving away parts of himself just the same with the way he can barely look away from Locus. With the way he'd had to miss their sparring sessions in the first place.

Of course Locus had come to seek him out. It was weird, and he was right, their schedule was what had kept them sane for so long. What kept them from spiraling into madness.

Maybe Felix was ready to spiral, though. Feels it when Locus gives another one of his looks, something almost conflicted evening out into quiet contemplation as Felix is given a heady once over. Can feel the weight of Locus's eyes over every inch of his body and it makes him quiver.

Fucks sake. He's gone off the deep end. But Locus deserves to have his normalcy, it isn't Felix's right to take that away.

"Alright, sure."

Agreeance comes with a jaunty shrug of his shoulders, though on the inside Felix is tying himself in knots. It's just thirty minutes though, he's endured so much worse for so much longer, shouldn't be a big deal, right?

Right.

"If you can't go a few days without me kickin' your ass, I understand completely."

Throws a quip out because it's expected of him, but it's all just filler as Felix raises to his feet, ready to follow Locus out to the recreational room.

  


—

  


The entire trip to the rec room finds Locus silent and stuck in deep thought. Felix had skipped their previous sessions, though when confronted about it, had readily agreed to do a small sparring session with him, with no additional fuss. It does quell his concerns a bit, makes Locus believe that maybe there really is no underlying cause, other than the fact that his partner had wanted to sleep in.

Regardless, Felix had _agreed_. A quick little quip on his lips, as typical, but it certainly seems like the man trusts Locus to have their best interests at heart. And that intrusive thought? Warms his insides like nothing else.

Felix trusts him. How could Locus betray that by adding the idea of intimacy into the mix? It would make things awkward. Uncomfortable. Felix gets what he wants, and so far Locus has seen no signs that the man could ever want _him_.

Entering the room, Locus makes quick work of the "rec" corner of the room, pushing both seats and the tv-console setup to one wall, ensuring nothing gets damaged in their tousle.

He turns to his partner. Heavy thoughts on his mind, yet just knowing the other man is close by acts as a balm to any wounded parts. His eyes are soft for a moment, appreciative, before his expression shifts to something more flat and determined. All business.

"Alright. Since we're only doing this for half an hour, I say we skip approach and work on grappling forms."

Takes a pointed step closer, until he's about six inches outside of way too close. He has no intention of analyzing Felix's movement and waiting for an opportunity to break the other man's guard, or vice versa.

No, they'll begin close range.

"You know the typical break for a stranglehold. I want you to approach me with that, but try to prevent me from breaking it."

Lithe, light Felix has always been good at avoiding those types of holds altogether, but if ever caught in one, Locus has reigned supreme on keeping the smaller man there. Recently though, they've been training on ways for Felix to escape such holds. Locus is clearly the larger man between the two, so focus has been leant to redistribution of body weight, as to simply trying to overpower a stronger individual.

He takes a breath (not at all sinking oh so slightly into the scent of the other man, nope) and taps his clavicle, indicating Felix should go ahead and get into position.

  


Locus has always been dangerous. Regardless of everything, he's a big guy, strong and steadfast. He's tactical, analytical, mathematical -- every battle, plan, step forward is calculated within an inch of its life before Locus makes the go ahead. A skilled fighter, hand to hand master, unrivaled marksman.

Locus is _dangerous_ for those reasons, yes, but Felix is beginning to realize that isn't the Locus he has to be wary of.

It's this one, with the way he seeks out Felix for company, looks at things with that easy going soft expression. The one who speaks like a person and treats Felix just the same, and more than that, he's treated like a friend.

This is the Locus that Felix has been avoiding as much as possible the last three days, and even though it's been some time he's sequestered himself away, it hasn't been _enough_. Faced with Loc now, that light look in his eye turning steady with determination for their sparring session, Felix knows he's not going to make it.

Not when that voice, deep and _close_ reaches down to the base of his spine and gives it a jaunty little shake. Not when Locus steps up until they're only inches away from each other and Felix can feel the body heat radiating from the guy, smell the unique scent of him. God how he wants to press forward. Almost can't contain that need when Locus taps gentle fingers on his own collarbone, an invitation to start their session almost becoming something else entirely.

Felix feels shaky on the inside, but he gives a signature grin and nod, affirming the purpose of their spar as well as throwing some settling normalcy into the space between them.

It isn't going to last.

With a deep breath, Felix moves quick as a whip, body moving round until his arms can come up into a standard stranglehold formation against Locus's throat. His grip, however, is lacking. Head less in the game for sparring than it is for simple closeness. Felix feels like maybe he's touching just to touch.

Well fuck.

  


Wordlessly, Felix steps around him after giving that wide grin of his. For a heartbeat, just a moment, Locus gets that flood of adrenaline that always drowns his blood when the other man steps out of sight. Felix is a predator of the highest caliber. It's never a good idea to lose track of him during a fight. Instinct kicks in immediately, pulse picking up, when the other man gets into position.

Though the next heartbeat comes quickly, pounding heavily for an entirely different reason.

This particular hold?

Awful.

It's too loose, the angles aren't exactly correct, giving Locus plenty of room to breathe, and practically no constricted movement to prevent him from breaking it immediately.

Arms curl around his shoulders, his neck, Felix's heat and smell pressing close against his back, and Locus knows—he _knows_ —it's these things that do, in fact, keep him from breaking it immediately.

He pauses.

Nervous lungs suck in tentative sips of air.

Maybe sparring was a bad idea. But how was he to know that, until the moment it happened?

Internally, he shakes himself of the heat turning his bones and muscles lazy, then reaches up quickly, wedging a hand between his neck and Felix's arm. Grips tight, then rolls forward and uses the other man's bodyweight to flip him over, landing Felix neatly, with precision, flat on his back right in front of him.

Locus straightens up.

"What was that?"

Holds a hand out immediately to help the other man rise, brow raised in question.

  


What was that, indeed.

Felix knew it was coming as soon as his arms came around Locus, understood that his posture and strength weren't up to snuff, because he hadn't even _tried_. So of course he'd be landing flat on his back sooner rather than later.

He peers up at Locus with a slightly dazed look, breath knocked out of him from where he hadn't exactly been paying attention to the sparring part of their little get together. Felix takes a deep, steadying breath, even though the phantom feeling of Locus's body against his own makes his stomach quiver.

Reaching up, it's easy to take the hand offered to him, though it's a little obvious once again when he doesn't let go immediately after standing up.

"I dunno, Loc, what _was_ that?"

Tries to go for the psych out approach, because Felix is crazy enough for that to work sometimes. Like he has some sort of master plan cooking up his sleeve and he's playing a game to see it through to the end. Tacks on a grin to bring that scheme home before jumping back into motion once again.

Doesn't give Locus time to register anything more than movement as Felix finds himself behind the man again. This hold is tighter, more standard, but as soon as Felix is so close he's immediately drugged with the feeling of this man. Goes so far as to tuck his own head close, nose nudging just behind Locus's left ear, as he holds on tight.

  


Is this ... a mind game?

Locus blinks, staring first at Felix as he rises with that toothy grin, then at the hand that doesn't release his own. Warm. Softer, now that they've been out of battle for almost a year now. His partner makes no move to let go, not for a long moment, and though that's a bit odd, Locus doesn't let go either, so he supposes they're both a bit off kilter at the moment.

Locus knows his own reason for it, however (the physical touch, heat, that jittery knot dancing in his stomach), but has no clue why Felix would act in such a way.

So caught up in this, he has no time to process the sudden release of their hands, nor the way Felix flits behind him on light feet, arms around his neck again in a much more proper hold. _Fight_ response rears its head almost immediately. Locus goes to wedge his hand between his neck and his partner's arm, but the grip is too tight.

A forearm rests over his thumping pulse. Good form. He'll need to drop. Lower his center of gravity. Tuck his body forward. Attempt another toss. Or maybe—

Damp heat brushes against his ear.

Locus stops breathing.

Felix is— nosing against him? Head tucked close. Dangerously close, in a terrible position. Locus could headbutt him easily like this. Break his nose. Disorient him enough to release the arms around his neck.

Locus does not do this. Frozen to the spot, he stares at the far wall, stormcloud eyes widening minutely, and tries to learn how to breathe again. His lack of air has little to do with the hold around his neck—and _everything_ to do with it, all at once.

What _is_ this?

For a moment, just a moment, some other strange, dormant instinct much older than "fight" overtakes him, and Locus leans back briefly. Tilts his head into the touch. Takes a deep, shuddery breath.

And then he drops. Crouches. Hands reach back to grab Felix's shoulders, and he rolls them both forward, attempting to use the other man's weight to displace him.

  


Okay so it's pretty obvious at this point that Felix is going to give himself away any minute now. He can't help the way his body reacts to the one against it, can't help the need to press forward further into Locus's space, no matter how close they already are. Felix is gluttonous for _more_.

Even as he chastises himself for taking in the first place.

He hadn't meant to press his nose into Locus's hair, nuzzling close to the curve of one dark ear. Hadn't meant to take that deep steadying breath, inhaling his partner's scent so completely it's all he can sense.

But God does it feel good to just let go for a second, just take what he wants like normal, even if this is on such a smaller scale. Because Felix wants _everything_ from Locus. He can suffice with this little nibble, this taste. Is probably going to get a foot to the face for it, but for now it's totally worth it.

Only.

Locus presses back against him. It's a split second, really, but Felix feels it perfectly all the same. Locus nudges back against him, turns his head into Felix's touch and takes a heaving, shaky breath in that instance.

It's for that reason Felix finds himself on the fast track back on the mat beneath them. He's left blinking up at Locus from his back, had barely felt the force of the fall with all the buzzing between his ears. Felix knows his eyes are wide, not confused, but something close to that. He knows what he'd felt.

But why?

Is this? What _is_ this?

  


The break works. Felix, thrown back to the ground, stays splayed open, and blinks up at Locus as if surprised it had happened in the first place. Or, maybe.

No.

Not surprised that his hold had been bested by redistributed body weight and creative maneuvering. But there's something else in that gaze. A confused look no doubt mirrored by Locus.

He remains hunched over in stasis for too long. Clearly looming. Stares at his partner with some warm heat not wild enough to be anger, but out of control all the same. Felix had _touched him_. Not a friendly nudge, not a fist to the face. But something different altogether. Something Locus knows, has known in the past, but coming from Felix, it feels like an entirely new sensation.

Leaves his skin too hot, itchy. Leaves Locus with the incredible urge to spread himself out over the man just to feel the tremble of his heartbeat against the whole of his body.

There's an almost innocent trust in the way Felix lays on the ground. Locus hadn't pulled his punches, so to speak. Knows the man must be winded. Knows Felix has been bested, at least in this close range practice session. And yet there's no frustration behind quiet brown eyes that look at him like Felix has _seen_ something.

He hasn't seen anything yet.

The thought occurs to Locus as he straddles the other man in a standard grappling pose. Thighs pressed together, locking him down. There is still a chance that Felix doesn't know the thoughts that have weighed heavy on Locus' mind this past month—no, these past _few months_. They could continue their training like usual. Locus could brush it off—the way he'd welcomed that gentle nudge to the back of his ear. He could ignore it ever happened.

The problem with all of that, though, is that these decisions would require the full focus of his analytical mind. Unfortunately, logic has fled the building, and now he's here, above Felix, arms to either side of the other man's head, not in any way trying to complete a proper grappling form, and he's staring at him, staring at that surprised face, the curve of his nose, those soundless, still lips, and he's leaning closer, breath metered even though his heart is in a panic, and all he can think about is _what does he taste like_ and _what would that feel like_ and _they look so soft, he looks so soft below me._

Locus tilts his head. His eyes are lidded. He's centimeters away from pressing his mouth to Felix's own when he pauses. Can feel each inhale, every exhale a soft warmth fluttering against his lips.

Sucks in a sharp breath before pulling away entirely. Up, up, up, back on his feet, hand in his hair, turning around so Felix can no longer see the blown pupils, the apparent want plastered across his face.

"I—"

Voice rough. He clears it.

"Sorry, I, um."

  


Silence and stillness lingers between them, something heavy and pressing, making the air of the room thick and hard to breathe. Or maybe that could be the fact that Felix has just been thrown down onto the mat of the rec room for the second time in like five minutes. Locus hasn't pulled any punches, used all of his redistributed weight to shove Felix onto the ground, but it doesn't feel like hurt that passes through his body.

Feels like _heat_ and a vicious nervousness that expresses itself in the way Felix never looks away from the larger man in the room. Isn't nervous that Locus could hurt him, no not that at all, but there's something between them right now that Felix understands but doesn't know if he should believe.

Is it just his own want clouding what's actually happening? Does Felix want Locus so much that he could be putting his own spin on the reactions here? Possible, certainly, but that doesn't feel right either.

Definitely doesn't feel like that's the answer when Locus presses forward again. The pause between them is too long for what seems to be the continued grapple, so Felix expects the worst when Locus folds himself down over him on the ground. Doesn't flinch, can't bring himself to miss any reaction to what could be happening.

Just as he'd expected, Locus pins him to the ground, but it isn't anything like a standard grapple. There are elbows planted beside his head, thighs pinning down his own, heat and breath between them growing labored and shaky.

Felix's heart is beating out of his chest, eyes still wide as Locus drifts closer and closer. They're not even inches apart, and it's all happening so fast all Felix can do is take in the expression on Locus's face, but he doesn't have any control over his own. Sees lidded eyes, the way they're tilted to fit together.

Locus is going to kiss him. _Fuck yes_.

Surrendering to the feeling in his chest, Felix lets his eyelids slip closed to wait for the feeling of soft, warm lips against his own.

The feeling never comes. In fact, Felix loses Locus's heat entirely as the man jumps up and turns away so Felix can't see any expression, can only hear the rough quality of the guy's voice before it's cleared away. Locus apologizes and now this is just all sorts of confusing.

The worst kind of unfair tease, because it leaves questions unanswered and frustrations at a peak. Felix sits up, leaning back against his elbows to catch his breath. Didn't realize he was practically panting now, from the throws, from the anticipation.

"Loc?"

He asks, unable to express anything else, voice a scratchy thing, but even and open. Imploring.

  


Mind kicks into overdrive. The tension of his own fingers gripping his hair. Straight and clean locks between them. How his scalp stings with the hold, prompting him to release it. The room smells like sweat and _them_. Muggy. It's too warm. But he's shivering, more internal than external. A wobbly, melted texture to important internal organs. His lungs shudder. Stomach feels like someone's tickling it. Chest weighted and light all at once.

The quality of Felix's voice has always been a _thing_ for him. That soothing tenor, chasing away dark thoughts. Here, it's throaty, but far from upset. No anger. Just question. No disgust. Just …

What?

What is that, exactly?

Felix hadn't pushed him away.

That thought lingers at the forefront of his mind.

As Locus had removed himself from such a compromising position, he'd caught a glimpse of the other man's passive features, his closed eyes. Like he'd seen what was happening, what was about to happen, and had _welcomed_ it.

In all his musings on the subject, the thought that Felix could be open to the idea of that, of them together like that, had never crossed Locus' mind. It had seemed like such a far-fetched thing. Not even worth his consideration.

Now, though?

He drops his hand, letting it rest limp at his side. Doesn't turn around just yet, but tilts his head to peer at Felix over his shoulder. A nervous look reflected in his eye.

_That was uncalled for,_ he wants to say. _I apologize._

But that doesn't really feel right, because Felix hadn't pushed him away, and doesn't seem intent on doing that now, and only looks to him with that same honest, open look he's seen before, like maybe everything is alright, like maybe the thought of Locus going through with what his instincts intended wouldn't have been such a horrible thing.

"I ... think I'm done training for today," he says softly.

Takes a steadying breath, then quickly leaves the room, but not before giving Felix a lingering look, pupils dark and out of proportion, tongue dipping out briefly to wet his lips for the imagined taste of something he never quite got to have.

_What am I doing?_


	13. Scene XIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you all so much for the amazing comments! Honestly, we've been going through some rough stuff. Your kindness has helped immensely, and we'll respond to each of you as soon as we're mentally capable. 💚🧡
> 
> In the meantime, have an early chapter to make up for Locus' little nervous blunder last time.
> 
> —

This morning had definitely been a thing, right?

Felix has been working for hours trying to rationalize with himself what had happened, what can happen next, what he should _do_ about all this, if anything. It's been hard fought, this hold he's gotten over himself, the one that kept him an arms length away from Locus. Because he hadn't lied with what he'd told the man before.

Felix takes what he wants, and to keep himself from that out of fear of rejection or of turning what goodness they have now into something sour? Well he just couldn't bring himself to do that. He wanted, but was that worth what could possibly turn into a disaster?

Usually he didn't give a shit, but of course Locus was different. He'd always been, in a lot of ways, and now he always would be.

So yeah, it had taken time to convince himself that nothing good would come of him outing himself to Locus, but now it's all starting to look so very different.

Because Locus had totally almost kissed him. Felix hadn't been out of the game long enough not to recognize that, and he's a little disappointed in himself for not following Locus sooner to give the guy some reassurance or _something_. No, he's been holed up in his room trying like hell to get up the guts to go out there and face what could be the worst thing to ever happen to him -- if he was reading the situation wrong.

But Felix's instincts were telling him the opposite of that was true, and he's gotten this far following the heavy feeling in his chest. Hours pass, but Felix still waltzes into the kitchen around lunch time as per usual. Feels like his heart is about to beat out of his chest until he sees Locus and it's like everything in his head goes quiet.

This is right. Them, here.

Felix lets an easy grin light upon his lips as he mozies on over to the counter, hops his pert little ass up only a few feet from where Locus is standing.

"So," he starts, elongating the one syllable word into about four, playful and teasing.

"Loc, that was totally a kiss you tried to plant on me before, wasn't it?"

Felix's expression remains open, easy going and amiable, but there's a depth to his eyes. Some heat lingering just behind them that he can't quite extinguish now.

He's all in.

  


Despite the rather odd break in routine that had occurred earlier, and his intense desire to lock himself in his room and forget he even exists, Locus is still an animal of simple pattern and routine.

When lunch rolls around, he heads to the kitchen to prepare something for the both of them. Quick, easy. Just a few sandwiches. He'd made some simple white bread yesterday, and already has everything set out buffet style in preparation.

Which is, of course, when Felix decides to traipse into the room.

In a perfect world, Locus would have gotten everything ready, left a plate out for the other man, and given a quick knock on his door in passing to let him know his food was ready. But the world isn't that kind, so he's here, edging into Locus' personal space, using that nickname he uses, hopping up on the counter and giving him a grinning, warm look like that _won't_ just completely dissolve Locus' heart and leave him incapacitated.

He has a head of lettuce in his hand when Felix poses the question. It's blunt, airy.

Locus loses his grip and fumbles with the lettuce for a moment, narrowly avoiding dropping it on the ground. He'd like to think he's usually more coordinated than this, but the way Felix _looks at him_ has every limb and joint in his body off-kilter.

"That— I mean I didn't—"

Alright. There is no doubt about it. Locus is flustered. Heat spreads over his cheeks and though he doesn't turn away, his gaze lands squarely on an empty white plate, the intensity enough to bore a hole through ceramic.

How does he even respond to that? _Yes, Felix, I had every intention of kissing you._ Where does that lead? Just how many different ways can he mess this up right now?

With not so little effort, Locus drags his attention from the plate, back up to the smiling man hovering on the edge of the counter.

"I already apologized for my behavior," he says slowly, trying very hard not to find hope in the way Felix looks at him.

  


A flustered Locus is a very endearing one, Felix is coming to recognize. It's few and far between, the times he's seen his partner like this, but God he lives for it.

The way Locus fumbles with the head of lettuce in his hands, stumbles over his words, doesn't know what to make of the way Felix is coming at him or how his own body is reacting to such a thing. Felix has felt it before, in regards to this man, just the same. It's for that reason he doesn't feel so bad for pushing Loc's buttons.

Hell, Felix feels a little flustered himself from the memory of that almost kiss. How Locus had felt holding him down, something gentle even though Loc was so much bigger, imposing, it had only felt right. Felix wants to feel that again, more than anything.

And by the way Locus is reacting here and now, maybe it wouldn't be so bad to find a little hope in it. Even if the look on the guy's face is as intense as it is endearing, those hard, stormy eyes a direct opposition to the pretty flush at his cheeks. How can someone look so intimidating and so _like that_ at the same time?

"I'm not asking for an apology."

Felix states with an easy shrug, though he knows now that the way he proceeds will determine the outcome of this. He doesn't want to come off as pushy or overwhelming, but there's a line that he understands he has to cross to get his point into the thick skull just a few feet away from him.

"C'mere."

Maybe the best way to express what he wants would be to show Locus his intentions. Felix keeps his expression open, cocks his head to the side in a little 'come hither' motion. Spreads his knees to make room for the other man between his legs.

  


_Not asking for an apology._

Oh.

The words echo off the inner walls of his skull. Bounce back and forth a few times. Sink into the squishy grey matter of his brain as if trying to brand it, to make themselves known, _felt._

Nothing but a perfect calmness in that steady tenor. An amused, though infinitely open look in his eye. Locus gets stuck on the color for a moment. Brown, but with a heady depth, flecks of varying shades, and a light behind them that is, honestly, beautiful.

Felix is an attractive man, and Locus has come to realize that on many different levels these past few months. But part of that attraction lies in the way Felix looks at _him_ , specifically. In the tone he uses. The way he beckons Locus closer with a tipped chin, legs widening their position to make room.

It's lovely. Locus didn't know anyone could look at him like that. Not after what he's done. Not if they knew. And yet there Felix sits, accepting of every flaw, every dark deed, even knowing the pain that has shaped him, the shame of his scar.

Odd, how Locus would think back to that moment when he steps forward. Back to when he'd revealed the beginning of everything that went wrong with his life, and how Felix's face had contorted into steely outrage, and an eager desire to spill the blood of those who had wronged Locus.

As much righteous anger and hunger for violence that this man can contain, this softness, this defining moment between them, feels just as good. Just as right.

Slowly, Locus steps forward. Presses into Felix's space, depositing the head of lettuce on the counter beside them before both hands fall, naturally, to his partner's waist. He's aware that a hot flush still presses up from beneath his skin. Has migrated to his neck at this point. Thinks he might set fire on the spot with how heated his stomach and chest have gotten.

Felix just looks at him in that way of his. Knows. Of course he knows, now.

There's question in Locus' eyes. Anticipation. Nervousness, but want. So much want. This isn't a joke to him. If he gives himself in this way, there's no going back.

"Fi?"

He's all in.

  


As splayed out as they are for each other in this moment, still standing a few feet away, it would only make sense for Felix to feel flayed open, exposed and uncomfortable with how much Locus can read from him, and how much he can see in Loc's expression just the same.

It doesn't feel that way at all though.

Nothing about this feels anything but right, even as Felix softens himself down to something base and seemingly weak. Locus doesn't look at him with anything but some steely anticipation as the guy takes his time coming closer.

Loc settles just as Felix had intended, between the slighter man's legs, though Felix still has height on the guy since he's sitting on the counter. Finds that doesn't exactly matter as it would with anyone else of Locus's stature. There is no worry here, not like it would be with anyone else, no thought that he could be overwhelmed or outmatched.

There is no other person in the known universe now, that Felix would let so close. He comes to that realization as Locus's hands come to rest gently upon Felix's waist. There's no one he wants other than this man who knows him so fully. Who's seen the darkness inside him, understands his greatest weaknesses and fears, and yet still looks to Felix with such an understanding, _wanting_ expression.

Gorgeous.

Felix lets his own arms come up, lets his hands slide slowly up the curve of Locus's chest, up over the guy's shoulders. Doesn't pull him close just yet, but touching feels like it settles some raging wave just inside the pit of his stomach. He can do this. This is what he wants.

What they want.

"Maybe you should try that kiss again, hm?"

Felix's tongue flicks out to wet his dry lips, eyes glance up at Loc underneath their lids, not looking any more coy than he looks honest.

He's offering himself up here. Understands without being told that this? Is not something they can just let go of, can't bounce back from it.

This is it, and Felix doesn't hesitate.

  


There are few moments in Locus' life that he would call defining. When he'd gotten his scar, yes. Joining the UNSC, certainly. His first kill. The first time Felix saved his life during The Great War. When Siris abandoned their group.

And now this.

For a long time after Felix speaks, stating his intentions with the blunt clarity that Locus needs to truly understand, he can only stand between this man's legs and stare down at him with a gentle focus that states _you're the only one I see._ Even if he can't find the words to say it, he hopes it's made known.

Hopes this decision, this thing he won't be able to take back, is the right one. But really, he's not sure he could stop himself, regardless.

"Yes," he says, pressing closer, eyes glued to the way Felix wets his lips with a flick of his tongue. "I think I should."

Voice little more than a soft rumble between them, spoken like a secret. Locus leans down until he can nose against Felix's forehead. One hand rises to cup his jaw, not firm or insistent, but simply because Locus wants to touch. Feels the subtle scratch of stubble beneath his palm. Drags his lips over the bridge of Felix's nose, the apple of his cheek, before finding the edge of the other man's mouth.

There's no going back.

Locus wouldn't have it any other way.

He presses his mouth over Felix's own, and finds that it's soft and malleable, that he tastes heady, that the scent of him is intoxicating.

A low, hushed sound releases from Locus' chest. Eyes slip closed. Fingers twitch at Felix's waist. His grip doesn't tighten, but his thumb starts a mindless pattern, drawing circles against a cotton shirt.

_Right_ , his mind screams. _Right, yes, good._

For the first time in a very, very long time, Locus feels like he's home.

  


It isn't like Felix hasn't been in this position before. Not the literal one, though he can't actually remember if he'd been in that with anyone else honestly, but the emotional position.

He was an enigma to most people, could charm a snake from its lair, so club girls were easy prey. They tended to get this look in their eye as you swept them off their feet, this pointed gaze that said _could this be it_ or _I only see you._ Felix has seen it a few times in his life, but he's never felt anything but passing fascination.

People were ultimately not worth his time. Maybe good for a romp in the hay, but they wouldn't like to know him.

Wouldn't understand the things he's done to live his life, the horrors he's seen, terror he's caused. And it wasn't until just recently he didn't think anyone would be able to understand him, in that regard.

But now Locus stands between his legs with that look in his eye and Felix knows there's one similar mimicked in his own expression. Because Locus knows him in and out, through and through, and is still here. Right here with hands at Felix's waist and a voice deep and right speaking words that make Felix practically melt.

The kiss he'd asked for doesn't exactly appear as he's expecting though, even as Locus presses forward.

Felix feels the heart in his chest hammer and swell and clench tight as Loc drags his nose affectionately against Felix's forehead, hand coming up to cup the side of his face, lips crossing over his bridge, his cheek. It's too much and not enough.

A slight noise escapes him, something whisper soft and hurt as Locus finally presses their lips together in a chaste kiss.

This is not something Felix has experienced before.

Hands clutch at Locus's shoulders like they're the only thing holding Felix to the counter. He feels as if he could float away at any second, but can't imagine anywhere he'd rather be. The feeling of Loc's hands upon him, his mouth soft and warm against Felix's -- it's some heady perfection.

He kisses back evenly, doesn't push or pull for anything more, not right now. This is different, Felix feels like his skin is about to quiver right off of the rest of his body, he's no longer nervous but so wanting. Yet there's nothing in him that's willing to break the softness of this moment.

So he holds fast, lets one of his hands drift up into the soft, flowing locks at the back of his partner's head. Pets there while he clings to Locus with his other arm, pulls him in tight.

  


The hands on his chest, lips on his own. The way Felix feels against him, how a soft, pained sound escapes, is so much better than Locus could have ever imagined.

And oh how he's imagined it. This. This exact moment. Nothing stands up to the real thing, though. Locus is left feeling wholly unworthy. Had never thought he would get a chance like this again. He's been in love before. Once. And the hurt that arose from his previous life had changed him.

Well, these last few months have changed him, too. Molded him not into the same man he was so long ago, but a new one entirely. The sort of person who can exist as a fearless entity capable of bending nations to his will, of making powerful men beg for their lives, wrapped up in a nervous, wanting stillness, his heart beating rapidly by the mere touch of another person.

_His_ person.

Reluctantly, Locus pulls away for a much needed breath. Heart hammering violently in his chest. He parts their mouths for a moment, presses another chaste kiss to Felix's lips the moment after, tongue just peeking out to wet a plush lower lip, then straightens up more fully, removing the hand at Felix's cheek to fold it over the one resting on his chest.

To keep Felix there, this point of contact.

When he blinks down at the other man, he can't keep the surprise off his expression. Wide eyes that go lidded a moment after. Hazy.

Pleased.

"That," he begins, keeping his voice hushed for fear of breaking whatever is happening between them.

"Was ... unexpected."

  


Their kiss lasts for longer than Felix expects, takes all the breath from his chest, collapses his lungs and reinflates them all in the same instance. Felix feels buoyant and light, grounded only by the hands upon his body and lips against his own.

Though all good things must come to an end, of course, that doesn't mean Felix gives up so easily. Makes a quiet little noise as Locus pulls away, unimpressed by the distance his partner is creating between them. It does give him a nice view of a cute pink tongue as it flicks out across Locus's lips. The urge to follow with his own tongue is almost too much to resist.

Felix does manage, though, as the hand upon his cheek removes itself only to land upon his own hand at Loc's chest.

Affection and heat mingle just there, swirl and mix together until Felix isn't sure what feeling is what, only that everything feels _good_ and safe and right. It's not something he usually gets down with, unless heavily drinking, this comforting touchy feely kinda thing.

With Locus though, it doesn't feel forced or fake, not overwhelming or not enough.

"Yeah, well, so was the smooch you tried to plant on me earlier."

Felix speaks with an easy tone, voice level matching Loc's in its lowness. He doesn't want to break their little spell either, but he can't keep the grin off his lips as Loc looks at him with that surprised expression. Finds he really likes how it melts into something softer in the same moment.

Pretty.

"Thought for sure you were like, I dunno."

Comes to that broad conclusion, doesn't want to explain all the reasons he'd been thinking of that Locus wouldn't want to be with him in the first place. Felix takes his hand out of Loc's hair to give it a wild wave, encompassing all the things he doesn't want to say.

"But you're into it, right?"

  


The noise Locus makes when Felix pulls his hand away from that comfortable position planted at the back of his head, fingers carding through long strands of straight hair, directly mirrors the one Felix had made when Locus had pulled away from their kiss.

_Pouty._

He's distracted by the expressive gesturing and the question to keep the disappointment of that particular lack of contact from sticking.

Eyes flick to the hand waving its own language in the air, then land back on Felix.

He calls it a smooch. A _smooch._ The ridiculous word makes him give a breathy huff, amused, before his gaze gains a focused intensity. A beat passes. Two.

"You thought I was asexual, didn't you?"

Brow raises in a teasing, quirked position. One side of his mouth twitches upward. With a subtle shake of his head, Locus leans in a bit. They're already close, but he can sense an impending addiction. Felix just smells too good, feels right beneath his hands. All lines and angles, muscle and bone, sharp and dangerous.

"A fair assessment to make," he admits. "It's ... been a while. But."

Another pause, this one just long enough for Locus to give Felix a sweeping look. The heat in his gaze does not diminish.

"I've given it a lot of thought, and some preliminary experimentation."

Might as well be honest, right?

"And I've come to the conclusion that I am into this. I'm into you."

  


"I mean there's asexual, yeah."

Felix starts conversationally as Locus presses closer, that pretty expression on the guy's face morphed into something teasing instead. Felix doesn't find the change to be anything but pleasing. Doesn't know if there's anything of Locus now that doesn't feel all too right.

"But there's a whole fuckin' laundry list of reasons I could think of, really."

Lays that out for Locus to mull over because he's not kidding. Even with as open as they can be with each other now, there's still this aspect of a relationship that Locus has kept in the dark about.

Though really, maybe Felix could've started asking his own questions to suss out what of his thoughts were right or wrong on the subject of Locus as his sexuality. It would've surely given him away before he was ready though, so maybe this ended up just fine after all.

Looking to Locus now, Felix smiles something soft at the thought.

"Wait though, tell me about this _preliminary experimentation_ , I feel intrigued."

Covers up his own reaction with something ridiculous as usual, picking part of the conversation that wasn't meant to be expounded upon just to keep the fluttery feeling inside his chest from spilling over completely.

Felix drags his free hand back up Locus' neck, delves it right back into the silky dark strands that are just as soft as he'd always imagined them to be. God though he just wants to push back into Locus, lips across the guy's face and throat and chest, anywhere he can reach. Feels like he's been waiting for this for ages and yet he doesn't want to like push them.

Which is weird for Felix but he's going with his gut in this unprecedented situation. So he remains close but doesn't press closer.

  


This is something that Locus will never tire of. How Felix can take any sort of conversation and make it feel easy. No topic left unexplored, or more specifically, no topic left feeling like it cannot be. The man knows how to speak. How to interact in an engaging way. Turned towards Locus, he's left with the distinct feeling that his words matter.

He'd dwell more on the pleasantness of simply interacting with his partner in such a way, but that hand pushes up his neck (a vulnerable spot willingly bared for this man) and back into his hair as if Felix knows it belongs there. Locus' own thoughts are cut off with a low, noticeable groan.

His eyelids flutter, half-lidded and foggy. Scalp tingly with the touch.

"I'm unsure," he begins, voice taking on a scratchier quality, "that would be, ah. An appropriate topic for the first date."

Of course Felix would latch onto that particular comment. Locus can't find it within himself to mind too much, though his face does get a bit heated with the admission.

Yes, he's touched himself to the thought of Felix, and yes, he enjoyed it quite a bit.

Glancing down at Felix now, Locus feels overwhelmed by a wave of affection. Just wants to cozy up between the other man's legs. Press him down against the kitchen counter. Show him that he's new at all this, but oh so willing to learn.

  


Okay well, here Felix was just thinking about how he doesn't want to push them into anything, and Locus has to go and do _that._

Give some unholy, low moan at the way Felix drags a hand back up into his hair, lets his eyes flutter and go all hazy, speaks in that scratchy low voice of his.

How is Felix supposed to keep it in his pants when faced with that, huh? How is he supposed to think about anything other than what Locus says, how Felix understands exactly what it means, but fuck it all he wants _details._ And it's first date appropriate if he damn well says it is.

Intrigued doesn't even begin to scratch the surface of what he's feeling right now, but it's easier not to be overwhelmed with it than he thought it might be. This is Locus, of course he's fucking soft on the guy, he always has been, in a way. It only makes sense somehow that they've reached this point.

But what does he do about it?

Felix is so used to just taking whatever he wants, but this is so very different and new and he maybe needs a little guidance. Doesn't stop him from being _Felix,_ though.

"Says who?"

His own voice is just as low, affection and want turning vocal cords to gravel as his thighs press together to enclose Locus fully between them. There's still space between their bodies, but Felix makes his intention known. He doesn't want Loc going anywhere.

"Because I have some 'experimentation' I'd like to share too, tit for tat."

Grin on his face is half coy smirk, half enraptured affection. Doesn't know how to temper one or the other fully, so it's all just displayed on his expression plainly for Locus to see.

Felix does follow up with a heady scratch to the back of his partner's scalp, finding a button to push he's unable to keep himself from doing so. Wants to drag his fingers across every inch of Locus' body, wants to know everything that makes him quiver and moan and call out. Wants to please and take and _know._

He's certain that shows on his face too.

  


For as rapidly his heart beats, a decided sense of calm settles across Locus' shoulders all the same. He's a live wire, energy buzzing down his spine, pooling in various, specific locations throughout his body. The very pit of his stomach. The back of his throat. He feels washed over by a wave, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of _sensation_ Felix's touch brings.

The scratchy voice doesn't help matters. Thighs squeezing into his legs, holding him in place, _certainly_ doesn't help matters.

Felix is an entity and an experience all the same. Such a wild man, seemingly eager to spill every ounce of attention right onto Locus. Even goes so far as to drag pleasant nails against his head, causing a full body shiver to pass down Locus' spine, breath catching in his chest.

He's been without for so long. Any form of affection. It's all a bit overwhelming, but that it's Felix only heightens the experience, making it easier to sink into the warmth offered up to him—that smile, the clear want plastered on his partner's face, the mix of expressions that don't war, but seem to coexist naturally. Playful, wanting, open, trusting. _Affectionate._

It's that last one that does him in.

Locus sinks into the man. Back arched so he isn't flush against Felix in any _untoward_ sense, but he does dip closer. Enough to rest his forehead in the crook of Felix's neck, his scar smothered there.

"You do?"

He can't keep the surprise from his voice. Can't keep the heat from his breath while he mouths idly against Felix's pulse.

Over the last month, Locus has taken to "experimenting" _quite a bit._ That first time had been like some sort of awakening for him. He'd kept an image of Felix planted firmly in his mind while he took himself in hand, starting slow, making sure to keep his attention fixed solely on the memory of his partner's grinning lips, those bright eyes, the taper of his waist. At the time, Locus had been surprised by how easy it was to get off to it—the thought of Felix.

His preliminary test should have given him all the information he needed. And yet, he had continued. Had imagined Felix below him, the feel of skin on skin. Them curled in bed on their sides, Locus pulling the other man into his chest while his hand wandered along ribs and thighs, hand curling around Felix just to see if he could get him off. Touching just to touch. Waking up with Felix's mouth on his own, stretching with a groan into slow, lazy kisses.

Locus has considered an endless amount of scenarios.

But Felix has thought of him, too?

He can't deny his curiosity. Pulls his face away just enough to peer at the man with a focused intensity. Surprise, too. Something splayed out.

  


Locus doesn't seem to break by any means, but there's something to be said about the way he all but sinks against Felix. It's enough to startle him for a moment, the hand in his partner's hair going still for that second, before it starts right back up.

There's an unbelieving quality to the guy's voice as he speaks against Felix's throat, and it's the combination of all of these things that makes Felix feel a little surprised, himself. That Locus had slumped against him, hot breath against his throat, that Loc could sound so uncertain that Felix had thought of him just the same.

Had he not been as obvious as he'd thought he was being? Because it wasn't like Felix could take his eyes off his partner half the time, looking over the broad expanse of muscle, the pretty dark skin that would flash to him every time Loc would lift his hands (stupid fucking tiny clothes). Felix had felt teased and tempted at every turn.

Of course he'd thought of Locus in his bed. The shower too. On the mats of the rec room, against the kitchen table and counters, in the pilot chair of the cockpit.

There were only so many spaces available in _The Attie_ but Fi has imagined all of them.

"Yeah."

His voice is still rough, some little amused huff following his words, mind racing to every scenario he'd painted them in, the naughty ones yeah, but all the others as well. The ones he'd had a bit of a harder time coming to terms with.

Locus curling close against Felix's chest, asleep or close to it. How he would pet over the guy's shoulders and back, scritch at his scalp, touching just to feel skin beneath his hands. The kisses he would litter over that pale scar, the way he could allow himself to be pulled in close just the same, lazy and languid and _at home._

"Been on my mind longer than you'd think, I guess."

Honesty comes with the price of mild embarrassment, especially with Locus looking at him with all that focus and intensity. Felix doesn't flush, but he feels heated from the inside out. Doesn't hesitate to be the one to press forward then, presses his own face into Loc's chest. Inhales nice and deep, finding the scent of his partner as calming as always.

  


The confession, the way Felix curls into him a moment after, slow inhale as if to delve wholly into Locus' scent, is far more than Locus deserves, far more than he ever thought he could have.

Emotion collapses his chest. He drags both arms around Felix's shoulders and keeps the man tucked close, safe. Doesn't know what to do with all of this. Nothing had prepared him for _getting what he wants_. It seems like such a foreign concept—to have this thing between them, for Felix to desire him in such a way, and show a quiet affection that Locus already feels addicted to.

Slowly, Locus presses both hands into Felix's hair, dragging steady fingers through soft locks in a perpetual motion. He uses this movement to encourage Felix away from his chest, tilting down until he can capture the man's lips in another kiss—this one slow, deep, tongue a patient caress along his partner's lower lip.

Chest rumbles a wanting noise. Quiet and unhurried.

After a very, very long while, Locus pulls back to catch his breath.

"You first," he says, mouth curved in a slanted smile, playful.

"Then I'll tell you what's been on my mind."

One hand drops down to Felix's waist. Thumb circling against cotton, but pushing the fabric of Felix's shirt up so slightly with each pass.

Locus doesn't know what to do about all of this. All he knows is that a searing heat is burning up his body, and Felix is the only salve.

It doesn't matter how fast they go, he decides, or how slow. He'll follow Felix's lead. It's just them, after all.

It's only them.

  


There's no hesitation in the way Locus curls around him. No pause between Felix falling into the larger man's chest and two long arms tucking him close. There'd been nothing in him that felt uncomfortable around Locus, not for a long time, but it's something to recognize, how he feels in this instance.

Safe, warm. At home.

Felix hasn't had that in a very, very long time. He's been his own home, his own strength and will, there's nothing he's done if not for himself. Until Locus showed up. Then they were two against the world, how they survived the War, and even after. It had left, for awhile, the feeling of two.

Now, Felix understands, it's stronger than ever. They're stronger together.

It's with that thought weighing heavy in the back of his mind that Felix allows himself to be pulled away, hand in his hair and lips upon his own. Heated through, Felix falls into Locus without thought. This is where he belongs now, and there's nothing better than the press of them together.

A moan escapes him as Locus presses a smooth tongue to the crease of his lips. Felix opens, slow and sweet, much like the quiet little rumble mimicked in Locus. Unhurried and wanting, but willing for this moment to last for an indeterminable amount of time.

Forever, maybe.

And it does last, tongues pressing together, Felix flicking his own across sharp teeth and a warm palate. Exploring and savoring each texture and flavor of Locus he can get his hands on. More will come, he's certain of it.

Felix is _hungry_ for it.

And maybe Locus is too, by the way he pulls away, words spoken low with a coy smile that absolutely does everything for Felix right now and always. God, he's sexy how did that even happen? Felix feels blindsided by it, and by what Locus has to say.

He's left blinking at it, tongue curling quick to taste Locus lingering upon his lips, but brain slowing to a halt as heat burns like lava down his spine. It lingers just there, heady and weighty, under the press of Locus's hands upon his body, gaze over his face. How's he supposed to think like this?

What does Locus want him to say?

Because he has a lot of different little scenarios dreamed up, so very many, and they're all different.

Some too soft, or not soft enough, some that shoot that wild, uncontrollable heat throughout his body, while others fill him with a different type of warmth entirely.

"I don't think that was the deal, Loc."

Felix goes for playful, first off, because he still feels that, even here. Playful and coy, ready and willing to see where this takes them and more than pleased with the direction it seems to be taking.

Hands move, then, one still in Locus's hair takes a moment to smooth through it, just petting to feel the soft strands drift through his fingers. Felix's other begins to make its way down Loc's chest because he's wanted to feel the strength there for ages and can't contain himself any longer. He traces the line of a clavicle, down the broad expanse of a sternum, settles low on defined abdominals.

Bodies are definitely something that get to Felix, but knowing this is _Locus?_ Felix feels flush, too hot, too wanting.

"Maybe I could be convinced, though."

  


The last time Locus was intimate with someone, was before he ever met Felix. Before he even joined the UNSC. In a way, he's like a lovebird. Grows attached. Pours all of himself into one person, and if that person leaves, or worse, then Locus has nothing left to give. No interest in another.

He thought he would die like that. Alone, but with the sort of bone-deep apathy that makes loneliness less painful.

Felix, however, has turned his perceptions upside down, captured his interest like no one else ever has before. No part of Locus is displeased by this, but there still remains a nervous energy, surprised at himself for falling so deeply for another person.

In short, Locus is wildly out of practice, not to mention _inexperienced_ with the physical aspects of pleasing a man. 

His breath labors when exploratory fingers work their way down his neck, chest, and rest on his stomach, as if feeling for the strength beneath a too-tight shirt.

He knows he desires Felix in a mental and emotional capacity. Trusts this man to not only keep him engaged and active with conversation, but to hold Locus' well-being in high regard. He wouldn't have been able to say the same thing ten months ago, but things change. He's changed. So has Felix.

He knows he desires Felix in a physical capacity as well, but isn't sure what to do about it. Has no previous experience to base his decisions off of. Has limited experience in a general sense, and even then it's been _so long._

It's amazing how Felix can immediately ease his concerns with an airy mood and that soothing tenor. With a more paced breath, Locus clears his head and decides there are two things he knows without doubt.

One, he wants this to work, and he wants it to grow.

Two, there is no way to develop a new skill without dedicated practice.

"I want you," he admits, voice low and honest. And speaking of honesty, he's found that it has become quite an effective policy between them.

"I want to know you, and learn what could convince you."

One hand trails along Felix's arm. Doesn't try to budge it or remove the hand at his abdomen, only wants to touch.

"At your pace," he amends, determined to follow his partner's lead, even if his skin is on fire.

  


Jesus what was this guy _even?_

Felix is left staring with wide eyes as Locus speaks, voice deep and steadfast, like he's thought long and hard about what he should say, what words he could use to systematically break Felix down brick by brick. Feels like that, but it's hardly been a moment of silence between them and _that's_ what Locus came up with.

Fucks sake, this had trouble written all over it, all caps and italicized bold print.

There's nothing Felix can do but watch the way Locus's hand presses its way down Felix's arm. Doesn't move him, push or pull, but acts as decidedly as the words he speaks.

Only, what the fuck is Felix supposed to do about that? What's his pace?

With everyone else it's always been a quick fuck, in and out, thanks for the ride and see ya later. He'd never even brought people back to his own place he was so staunch about keeping an emotional distance. Now Locus is here and he's all Felix thinks about anyway, all he wants, like a fucking craving.

So Felix doesn't know what the pace should be. He isn't experienced in any emotional capacity, but doesn't want to act like that's not part of what he desires from his partner.

How can one person be so turned on and torn up inside at the same time? Felix feels a shudder build just beneath his skin, a direct result of Locus speaking three little words to him, _I want you_ , but that doesn't necessarily mean he has to push this in that direction just yet.

He could, but maybe he won't.

"I want everything from you."

His voice carries, strong and decisive, as Felix meets Locus head on. The hand at his partner's stomach splays out, smooths a soothing thumb over the bumps of strong muscle just beneath flimsy cotton.

"All of it, all at once."

Maybe he's trying to go for reassuring, something to let Locus know this isn't just physical for him.

  


_Everything._

The message is heard loud and clear, felt through splayed fingers as they brush over developed muscle.

They're on the same page.

For as little as Locus has ever actually paid attention to Felix's personal life in the past, he couldn't help but notice certain patterns. How the man always seemed to run off with someone new. How a conquest looked just like that—a _conquest_ , a goal, something to desire and then promptly leave behind.

A few simple words, and Felix reassures him that this? Is not like that.

Locus had known, already. Some innate sense. Logically, there can't be another because they're going to die there, just the two of them. But even barring their situation as a whole, he feels connected to his partner in a way he's never experienced before. There is no doubt in his mind that Felix sees him as more than just a conquest.

_Much_ more, because the man had put forth the effort to express that clearly between them.

"Alright," he says softly, a helpless, small smile gracing his lips. "I want the same. Everything."

Though _what now?_

A spread of sandwich toppings are set out on the counter, Locus having already began preparations for lunch before all of this occurred. So, maybe they should take a step back and eat.

On the other hand, he could grab Felix from the counter and carry him to his bedroom. Shut the door. Turn the lights off and settle in bed for the next few hours, learning this man from the inside out.

Decisions, decisions.

"Are you hungry?"

Flicks his eyes from Felix's face, to the sandwich ingredients spread out for them, and back.

  


"Oho," Felix doesn't even hesitate, even though the sweet little smile upon Locus's lips is enough to have him keening on the inside and the way he looks innocently back and forth between Felix and the array of sandwich ingredients is downright adorable.

"I'm _definitely hungry_."

There's a low tone to his voice, something dark that is in no way exaggerated, even if Felix has a rather playful look on his face. There's nothing he wants more than to press himself against Locus right now. Could fall to his knees right against the cold hard metal of the kitchen floor, he wants to feel Locus against him so bad.

Felix licks his lips again, legs clutching at Loc's hips between them, hands against the larger man's body clenching unconsciously.

"But I guess I could eat, too."

Smile turns smarmy and coy, but Felix doesn't release Locus. Doesn't even think to, not yet. He's just gotten what he wants, after all, how can he take a step back? He wants Locus in his hands _always._

  


So focused he is on introducing this new option—lunch—that Locus remains woefully confused for a few short moments after Felix answers, unsure why the man would speak with such a wickedly devious tone of voice. Understanding or not, it reaches into the depths of him and gives every stretched nerve ending a good hard shake.

He gulps. Shivers underneath the clench of pale hands.

Realization settles in shortly after, and all Locus can think is a rough, resounding _oh_. A flush dusts over his cheeks and down his throat. Eyes widen minutely, pupils expanding as liquid heat traces his spine.

Felix looks to him like he could eat him alive. What has Locus gotten himself into? He can't be bothered long enough to be concerned about it. Not when such a look, that coy turn of phrase, hits every button he has, and a few he hadn't realized were lying dormant.

Problem: they need nourishment for their bodies, yet that requires loss of contact, and for Locus to take a step back, allowing a modicum of distance that his body simply does not want right now.

He leans in and pecks a kiss on Felix's nose before dragging himself away. The single step back breaks contact, but he still hovers close. Body heat felt between them, though the overall temperature drops with the introduction of space, and uh, no, Locus isn't pouting, that is without a doubt something he does not _do._

"Lunch first," he settles on, voice rougher than he'd expected. He clears his throat.

The tension between them seems to have come to a head. It boils, ready to burst. Locus can't take his eyes off the man in front of him. Gives a long sweeping look of his partner, his predator, and can't help but think of all the light skin beneath those clothes, what it tastes like, if he'll shiver beneath him, how Felix moves in this particular dance.

He's handsome.

The thought hits Locus like one of those ancient freight trains. His gaze lingers across a prominent collarbone, along that tight waist, those thighs that had closed him in. He flicks his attention back up.

"Then ... I would like to lie down. With you. If you want that."

There. Intentions clearly stated. No room for confusion. He wants this man. Is eager to learn how to please him, know what he feels like.

  


Reaction from Locus is certainly something that will never grow old, Felix knows immediately. Is already addicted to the way the man's throat bobs with a thick swallow, how his pupils dilate, eyes wide and cheeks flushed an adorable shade of dusty pink.

God, it's like a _drug_. Felix could just sit here all day and watch his partner, how he moves and flusters and touches Felix right back without any sort of hesitation. This is all he's wanted, actually, just this closeness, this openness -- something he'd never thought he'd get, something he'd tried to convince himself for his whole life he didn't need.

Locus gives in spades, though, just as always, he's also the stern voice of reason that bangs around in Felix's head. The guy takes a step away from their position at the counter, parting from Felix with a kiss on the nose of all things, only to declare that they should eat.

A sigh almost escapes him, but Felix doesn't miss the specificity of language that his partner uses.

Lunch _first_.

Score.

They're still relatively close, Locus only moved a pace away from where Felix is still stuck up on the counter, but he looks about as pleased with the separation as Felix feels, so it's not so bad after all. As long as they're on the same page, Felix will go along with Loc's plan for lunch, especially when the guy continues to speak.

That deep, vibrating voice carries across the miniscule space between them, but Felix can admit that he's a little distracted by the way Locus looks at him. How he can watch a pointed gaze travel his body, down over his face to his chest and further down, settling on the thighs that had just held Loc captive not a moment before. Stormy eyes linger there for a moment before Locus is looking him in the eye again.

Felix plays back the words spoken, can't help the grin that graces his lips. It's caught somewhere between that bone deep hunger of a moment before, and something decidedly softer. Intimate.

Locus is deserving of such a thing, with the way he speaks, how he asks without asking. Puts himself out there between them where Felix can look his fill, decide what he wants just the same. Though like there was ever any question as to what Felix could possibly want.

_All of it._

That still rings heavy and true in his head as the smaller of the two hops down from the kitchen counter. Doesn't even try to sidestep around Locus, who's still standing in front of him, but Felix doesn't do much more than stand there for the moment. Soaks up the feeling of Loc's body heat, the scent of him, the thought of this person being his again. And so much more, now. 

"I believe that falls into the category of everything."

At this his smile darkens a bit, but Felix doesn't reach out, doesn't know if he'll be able to let go once he does. Instead he simply moves around Locus, attention on the food that has been set out for them.


	14. Scene XIV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it necessary to write nearly 20k words of LoFi getting "down to business"? Not really.
> 
> Was it fun? Oh hell yeah.
> 
> The rating has changed. If anyone prefers not to read explicit material, let me know! We tend to weave a lot of other things between, so I can try my best to recap those important bits if needed.
> 
> —

This afternoon had not gone as intended. Locus had anticipated confronting Felix about his continued absence from routine training, making up a bit of that time, breaking for lunch, and then ... something else, probably video games. The typical routine they'd fallen into these past few months.

Now, Locus is in his bedroom, four unmarked metal walls, his armor stored in the closet, bed already made, and Felix is there with him. The door slides closed. Locus hadn't left the end table lamp on, but the alarm clock on its surface glows a brilliant blue, illuminating the room with a soft light.

Felix had finished his food rather quickly. Had cleaned up while Locus picked through his own sandwich. Gave _looks_ , like his hunger persisted through the meal.

Locus wants this. An ache in the pit of his stomach seems only soothed by his partner's touch. But there is no denying the anxiety that floods his blood for the simple fact that he's _never done this before_. Has no idea how to please another man. How to make Felix feel good.

And more than anything, Locus wants to be good for him.

They're all they'll ever have again. The least he could do is make sure Felix gets what he wants—more than that, even.

With a deep breath, Locus turns to the other man. Steps up close and curls his arms around Felix's waist, tucking his nose against soft hair just to inhale that soothing scent. The closeness, the anticipation, is arousing enough. Can already feel heat pool at the base of his spine.

"You will have to show me what you like."

Blunt as ever, though the words are softly spoken. His fingers drift to the small of Felix's back, petting over cotton.

  


Pale blue illuminates the room, something soft and intimate, romantic even. Though if asked Felix would never admit to thinking such a thing. He's changed since they left Chorus, that is certain, but it's something he never thought he'd allow of himself, something he doesn't feel wholly comfortable with, at times.

This moment, however, doesn't fall into that category.

He's with Locus, after all.

The guy has been around for all of Felix's changes over the years, knows him inside and out, the good the bad the bloodlust, and he's still here. It's a bit mind boggling to think, but Felix doesn't mind how twisted up Loc makes him feel inside, so it's all good with him.

Even better now, actually that they're _here_. Not just for this clandestine meeting in Locus's room, but here together.

Or y'know something like that.

There was a confession of sorts, and kisses, and a bone deep hunger Felix saw mimicked in his partner, so hopefully it's safe to assume they're on the same page.

Something that's more than easy to believe once Locus steps up to Felix, curls long arms around his body and tucks his nose against Felix's hair. It feels soothing, like it's been a long time coming, like Felix could jump out of his skin with how electric he already feels from this. It's already so fucking good, just curling his own arms around a thin waist, tucking his head into Locus like he belongs there.

Too schmoopy for the moment, though, it's been a helluva long time since Felix has been touched and he has needs that only Locus can sate.

"Explore to your heart's content, big guy."

Felix doesn't pull away as he speaks, hands trailing up and down the larger man's back.

"I'll let you know good from bad."

Gives that simple reassurance because Felix understands that maybe that's something Locus needs from time to time. He doesn't mind giving a push in the right direction.

  


Hands around his waist. A head tucked against his chest. Locus buries his nose in soft brown locks of hair and inhales deeply, allowing himself to feel the full brunt of anxiety currently twisting up his stomach. It rises to his chest. His throat. When he exhales, it's slow and measured, and he imagines some of that nervousness escaping parted lips like trailing wisps of smoke.

Felix reassures him with a few simple words. Light fingers dance around his back, pulling warmth from some unknown place within him. The heat quickly overtakes any emptiness left from escaped anxiety.

This is right.

This is the right thing to do.

"Alright," he says quietly, voice dropping to a lulled murmur.

He takes a few moments to just stand there. Breathes deep. Basks in the scent of his partner, the warmth, those dexterous fingers fanning an inexplicable flame in his gut.

After a long while, Locus pulls back minutely. Hands drop to Felix's hips, holding him firmly (though not tightly) in place. He takes a step back, slow and paced, guiding the other man to step forward. Walks them backwards, carefully, toward the mattress.

"I want you in my bed," he says, losing more control of his brain-mouth filter as the reality of the situation hits him.

Felix is his now. _Fully_ his. And he's Felix's. Every part of him.

"I want to take your clothes off myself, so I can see you piece by piece."

He wants to savor. Linger. Pupils blow wide just thinking about it, fingers tightening minutely on Felix's hips.

The back of Locus' knees hit the edge of his bed. He pauses, waiting for some affirmation to begin.

  


_Alright_ , Locus says following a moment of silence that lingers after Felix's reassurance. It's spoken easily though as they stand together in the comforting dark of Locus' room. Echoes off the metal of the walls as another quiet moment drifts between them.

It's warm, weighted and electric. Felix can feel the heat off Locus burn into him, from the hands at his back to the chest that presses against his own. The man is a furnace, yes, but this is a different type of heat entirely. Want and affection, companionship, bone deep _knowledge_ of this person. It fills Felix to the brim, makes him feel like he could spill over at any moment.

The chance for that never comes, however.

Locus speaks up, finally, moves slowly and with purpose one step back. Hands settle themselves upon Felix's hips to encourage him to follow the man as he takes another step back and another, speaking all the way about what he _wants._

This is good, too good, too much, not enough. Felix burns from the inside out, skin quivering as Locus just _looks_ at him.

Felix's own hands come up to curl around Locus' shoulders, his new favorite position even as it stretches him up onto his tiptoes. His own expression is blown wide, pupils swallowing the brown of his irises, breath coming quick, fingers gripping tight.

"Then what're you waiting for?"

Coy as ever, but obviously so very affected by the side of Locus being shown to him right now.

  


Gentle fingers (hands that have killed countless people, that have been stained bloody, red) press lightly to his shoulders. They stop at the edge of the mattress, and Locus knows deep in his stomach that they are on a precipice. Peering into the wide pupils swallowing up color from Felix's eyes is no different than staring out into that endless void of space.

Full of mystery. A yawning chasm ready to devour him.

Locus doesn't have to think twice about diving in.

He leans forward for a fervent kiss, breath hot and mouth uncoordinated where it collapses against Felix's own. Some low, pained noise groans from his chest the second they touch and he has the opportunity to taste this man again.

In that same moment, his hands move from narrow hips, up a tapered waist, and dive beneath his partner's shirt, settling at the small of his back.

Locus caresses there, the wild heat behind his kiss lessening to something patient and relaxed while his mind drifts more towards the feel of soft skin beneath the pads of his fingers.

He strokes. Pets. A patient exploration that entices Felix's shirt higher and higher until Locus breaks their kiss if only to pull the shirt up and over, folding it neatly before laying it on the bedside table.

So _pale_.

He knows this. He's always known this. Yet in the dim blue light of his room, a shirtless Felix looks almost ethereal. He's lost some weight, they both have, but there is plenty of heft in lean, muscled arms, and a thin trail of hair tapering from his pelvis beneath the band of his pants—that, for some reason, makes Locus' mouth water.

He soaks up every detail, every thin scar, heat roiling low in his belly, before flicking a dark gaze back up. Presses both hands forward, slowly, every ounce of his frightening focus on Felix's reactions, ready to gauge the pleasantness of the situation, or if his touch might be unwelcome in certain areas, if he might need to pull away.

Both hands splay out low on his partner's stomach, and Locus looks down just long enough to marvel at the contrast they make against pretty light skin.

"Handsome."

A thoughtless remark.

  


Taking the brunt of Locus' not insubstantial attention is something Felix is well versed in, yes, but it comes at different times and has different meanings each time. If they're in battle, the wild, yet somehow _even_ looks thrown his way mean something far different than the way Locus is looking at him now.

It's heavy, a weight that lays upon his chest in something that could be suffocating if it wasn't feather soft.

The moment doesn't last, the one between Felix speaking some magic words and Locus pressing forward to seal their lips together once more. It's heady, hot and messy for all of a moment. Like Locus can't help the way he feels overfull with it, how he spills out against Felix just the same way Felix thought he might do himself, just a few moments before.

A moan presses from him, low and shaky, something to mimic the one that Locus presses between his lips into their kiss. That's also something that doesn't last, the wild feeling behind the press, it simmers in Locus as he touches Felix's skin, but Felix doesn't feel settled with such a thing at all. He arches into the warm hands at his back, feels as if the patience of the man in front of him only feeds into his flame.

He's left panting as Locus pulls away to lift the shirt over Felix's head. The man can't help the way he scoffs as it's _folded_ of all things. It's a very Locus move, one that makes him feel the need to roll his eyes almost as much as he feels endeared to the motion.

It's cute.

Which is only more coal added to Felix's fire, stoked by the hands that settle low against his stomach, by the way one word makes its way from Locus.

"Sam."

It comes almost unbidden, heady frustration and impatience wriggling its way through Felix's chest, bursting from his lips.

He's never felt so wanting, so needy, in his life but Felix doesn't move to push them along. Doesn't know why, but he wants this to be Loc's show. At least for now.

  


Quiet observation allows him the opportunity to take in every reaction presented to him. And, oh, does Felix react.

The scoff on his face, want burning through his eyes. How he presses into Locus' hands. _Impatient._ The rumble in his chest when that addicting sound spills out, an echo to Locus' own helpless need, how he says _his name_ , Sam, and it's better than any tone he's heard before.

He could spend hours here, Locus realizes, blinking slowly while hungry eyes roam across every inch of revealed skin. The fit abs, those cute pink little buds on Felix's chest, the strength in well-defined shoulders.

Locus has thought, before, of how _delicate_ Felix looks. A thin waist, high cheekbones, sharp jawline cutting downward into a narrow chin. But here, he doesn't look delicate at all. He's just a man—with needs as prominent as those harbored within Locus' chest.

Splayed hands rise upward, from a fit stomach to a softly breathing chest. He just barely glances over sweet little buds (not lingering, not yet), then folds reverent fingers over both shoulders. Down the other man's arms. Up his sides.

Wants to touch everything, every part of him.

It's after this heady journey traversing previously uncharted lands that Locus curls his arms around Felix's waist, turns them in one fluid motion until Felix is the one with knees pressed to the back of the mattress.

"Down," he says, breathing heavily. The word comes out more demanding than he'd intended—unhinged. He takes a brief moment to compose himself before speaking again, tone a bit more controlled but no less heated.

"On my bed." _Now._ "Please."

  


Hands pass over him in response to Sam's name spoken so fervently from Felix's lips, but they do little more than simply move for a long moment.

It's a strange feeling, this worship. Locus is so reverent in the way his fingers pass over Felix's body, following some unspoken path up over his stomach to his chest, over sensitive swollen nipples (making him twitch so slightly) before they move up to his shoulders.

Each press raises goosebumps over his skin, fuels his inner flame. Felix can feel his chest heave, breath catching there as Locus finally wraps long arms around his waist. He doesn't anticipate the way he's suddenly flipped around, knees hitting the edge of the mattress lightly. His own arms had come back up to clutch at Sam's shoulders, fingers digging in so slightly as he's startled.

The way Sam speaks to him more than makes up for it.

Felix feels his whole body shake at the demand made of him, though Sam seems to steady himself right after, the feeling lingers in Felix's chest, in the room around them. The sound of Sam _out of control_ is a heady button Felix didn't know he had to press, but it's sending off sirens in his head that make him fall onto the mattress immediately. He looks a little stunned at Sam's tone and how it had affected him so readily, at how he'd obeyed such a thing without thought.

Doesn't much matter now, however, because he's got the perfect view of Sam in front of him. Tall and lean, clothing still just that much too small, the shirt clings to his stomach, reveals a tantalizing inch of dark skin just begging for Felix's lips.

He doesn't resist.

Leans forward immediately to press his nose against the pretty little dusting of hair leading _down,_ inhales before pressing an open-mouthed kiss just there. He can't hold himself back, not now, though he does look up beneath his lashes, making certain this is something that Sam's okay with just the same.

  


Felix _obeys,_ and—

Yes, Locus is a rather metered person with a wealth of control. But when his partner plops himself prettily on the edge of the bed without so much as a peep of protest, Locus goes _wild_ in the head. All simple, succinct words fly out each ear until the only sound left is a roaring, ever-present rumble.

The sound in his brain heightens, stutters, when Felix tucks himself forward and presses warm lips to an ever-present strip of revealed skin just along Locus' waist—the direct result of clothing that has never, and will never, actually fit him.

He sucks in a sharp breath. Stomach flutters. Hands rest on bare shoulders and Locus stares at their point of contact, right when Felix looks up through pretty long lashes as if to pose a question without bothering to remove his mouth from its current location.

Aroused is putting it lightly (on fire, burning up, ready to be _consumed)_ , but his body finally catches up with his brain, his emotions, and he can feel himself filling out beneath cotton boxers and black sweatpants.

That Felix _checks in on him_ , and that this small gesture turns Locus on _even more_ , are probably important facts, or things to know, or ... something.

But he can't dwell on that for very long. Felix makes him mindless.

He wants to take a step back. Wants to compose himself a bit more. But he can't. Not when Felix looks so pretty down there, when warm breath ghosts over bare skin, and Locus can do nothing more than press a palm to the side of his partner's face.

_Yes._

_It's okay._

_It's so much more than okay._

  


Breath comes sharp and quick as soon as Felix's lips touch smooth, dark skin at Loc's stomach, broad hands come up to clutch lightly at his shoulders in the same instance, but nothing about either of these reactions ping Felix with the thought that he's doing something wrong or unwanted. Quite the opposite, really, and that is only cemented with the way Sam looks down at him.

That wild look is still in his eyes, looks like he wants to curb that reaction, step back and slow down, but there's nothing but _yes_ in Sam's gaze.

Felix's mouth waters, making him swallow heavily as a hand comes up to press easily against Fi's cheek. He's torn in that moment between shifting his face, dragging one thick finger between his lips, giving Sam a little taste of what's to come, and continuing with his own exploration of the body in front of him.

His own body is burning up under the weight of Sam's gaze, the phantom feeling of his hands. Felix is practically panting into Sam's stomach now, feels his body begin to awaken further, though now that he's paying the slightest bit of attention, Felix recognizes that he's already half hard in his sweats.

If he's not careful, this won't last long at all. It's been far too long, for both of them.

Though, really? Now they have all the time in the world. If this ends quickly, they'll just go again. And again. And again.

The thought has a grin curl up the corners of Felix's lips as he pushes close once again, hands on Sam's body now, one pressing his shirt up higher, thumb of the other dipping down beneath the waistband of black sweats.

Felix is _hungry_.

"Lemme suck you, Sam."

Speaks the words almost without meaning to against Sam's skin.

  


Nothing exists other than Felix.

It's been that way for a long time, it had only taken this rather precarious situation they're in now, aboard a lost ship in space, for Locus to truly accept it.

After the Great War, it was only Felix. Even with Siris, _it was only Felix_. The bounties they've pursued, the jobs they've taken, Chorus, and _this._

The only thing that matters—that has mattered for a very, very long time—is Felix.

A grin catches his attention, makes his pulse pick up, feeling very much like prey in the presence of a predator, no matter their current positions with Locus hovering over the other man.

A hand pushes at his shirt, revealing more skin, and that wry thumb tucks itself beneath the waistband of Locus' pants, and Locus realizes he is _not prepared_ for how painfully turned on that makes him feel.

_"Yes."_

One word, ground out. Breathless, panting. He is not in control of himself. If he had an inkling of control, his mind would drift to exactly what that demand entails. A waking fantasy, encumbering his every thought.

But there is no fantasy here. Only reality. Only Felix below him, bare-chested. Only that handsome face, that wicked curl of lips.

  


_Yes._

One word is all that's spoken in reply, but it's the only one Felix needs right now. The only thing he'd wanted to hear, and with it in the air between them, there's nothing standing in the way of Felix and him taking his prize.

If he thought his mouth was watering before, he's practically drooling now at the thought of Sam in it.

And it isn't as if Felix has been a selfish lover in the past, far from that, but he's never been one to indulge in his partner. He's been with men and women alike, one night stands only, a quick fuck to satisfy a need when he didn't want to use his hand. He likes having sex as much as the next person, but to want to _pleasure someone_ for the sake of _their pleasure?_

Not something that's ever occurred to him until this moment.

Felix wants this to be the best Sam's ever had, and it's with that thought in mind that he sets to work.

Doesn't hesitate to use both hands to press Sam's shirt up.

"Off, _off._ "

A quiet demand, one he makes without ever looking up, though he doesn't leave his hands idle in that position. Trusts Sam to do as he says while he takes a different matter into his own hands. That being Sam's pants, though there is no real rush from here. Felix draws both thumbs beneath the waistband of the sweats, begins to press them down slow and steady, lips following the path downward.

Doesn't stop until the pants are falling loose down to Sam's ankles and the only thing standing between Felix and his prize are a pair of thin boxers.

His nose immediately finds the growing bulge there, presses gently across Sam as he inhales nice and deep.

  


No protest. Locus follows this demand in the sloppiest way he ever has. Fingers fumble with the hem of his shirt while he stretches his arms upward and wrangles it off his body.

Doesn't fold it. It's his, after all, not Felix's, so on the floor it goes.

He's left half-naked, staring down at this almost intimidatingly pretty man while Felix eases his pants off his hips with a languid press far more metered and indulgent than the almost frantic demand he'd given just moments ago.

A mouth so warm it's blistering.

Locus' pulse thumps wildly.

A surprised breath punches out of him when Felix leans in, sucking in a deep breath as if to surround himself with Locus' scent.

_What has he gotten himself into._

Wobbly, Locus braces a hand on Felix's shoulder, the other resting against the back of his partner's neck. He's beyond aroused at this point. He's _needy._ Can't even recall the last time he's had a mouth around him, but it's not just going to be that.

It's going to be Felix. Silver-tongued and dangerous, handsome beyond belief.

His cock twitches in his boxers, a slick bead of pre already forming at the head. If Felix gets his mouth around him, there is no foreseeable outcome that involves Locus _lasting._

Does that matter? Should he say something? Maybe in a minute. He can't form words right now. He can only watch, lips slightly parted, while Felix curls between his legs, and release a soft, thoughtless moan.

  


Hands upon his own body are felt secondary to the weight of Sam against his face as Felix immerses himself in the scent and feel of the other man pressed against him so intimately. It's easy, surprisingly so, to let everything else fall to the wayside but the feeling of Sam.

Felix doesn't have to think, here. Doesn't have to go through his usual rigmarole of _who what where_ that keeps him more than present for many sexual encounters. They were enjoyable, yes, but he was still a trained soldier and a more than paranoid one at that.

With Sam there is no other thought _but Sam._

It's nice to fall into that, to understand that the hand at his shoulder, the back of his neck, are there to keep them steady and grounded. That they make Felix feel safe.

Body melting into the touch, Felix doesn't hesitate to open his mouth along the growing line of Sam's erection, separated only by a thin layer of cotton. He can feel the way it twitches against him, feel the way it's slowly growing wet just at the head, damp and salty.

Sam moans above him and Felix shudders at the sound, feels pressed into motion by it, even though he feels like he could spend hours just like this. Mouthing at Sam until they're both wet and needy for more. That can come later, for now he wants a taste. Sets out getting himself just that, still no hesitation in his body.

Felix doesn't look up to Sam this time, he's already gotten the go ahead, he's not about to give any inkling that he doesn't trust the words Sam has given him. Only presses his thumbs underneath the band of the boxers, eases them over the thickening cock they hide, though Felix has to pause just there.

"Holy shit."

Sam is fucking _big._

  


He is in way over his head. Submerged, complete with waterlogged lungs. Every breath feels like an effort—but, somehow, inexplicably, in an incredible way.

The simple touch Felix gives him shoots heat through Locus' entire body. A wet _need_ pools at the base of his spine. The other man noses across him, and even through thin fabric Locus can feel the incredible heat and breath teasing him so perfectly.

His stomach clenches. Anticipatory. Every iota of his attention zeroes in on what Felix does—lips parted, heat and the press of warmth mouthing over the outline of his arousal. It makes him strain forward, as if reaching for more of that touch.

His boxers are peeled downward, slowly, and two things strike him suddenly.

Cool air—his cock is out. Felix has taken him out. Felix is looking at him. Felix sees him, is going to _touch him._

Surprised words.

Locus blinks a couple times, a haze having descended over him in the moments leading up to this one. Is that a good "holy shit?" A bad one?

He hadn't considered the thought that he should be _embarrassed_ about ... himself. Sex has been such a distant thing, so far from his mind for so long, that it hadn't even occurred to him that maybe Felix had certain preferences when it came to ... _things._

Locus licks his lower lip. Caresses his thumb along Felix's neck.

"Is ... everything alright?"

  


Enthralled would be a good word to describe how he feels in this moment. Sure, it's been a long time since he's been with anyone, nevertheless a man, but it's a little startling to come face to face with the biggest cock he's ever seen (outside of porn, of course).

Felix has never thought of himself as a size queen, and it only made sense that Sam would be _proportionate_ , but the thought of it and the look of Sam only inches away from his face are two wildly different things.

He hadn't meant to say anything about it, hadn't meant to raise question of his own, doesn't realize he has until the hand at the back of his neck moves in a soft, soothing way. Until Sam is speaking from above him.

Felix looks up with hazy eyes, wide and unfocused for all of a moment before he narrows in on Sam's face. The guy doesn't look worried, maybe a little confused, wondering exactly why Felix had had such a reaction, and while that's understandable, how could Felix not have a reaction at such a pretty cock?

"Mhmm, perfect, amazing ten outta ten."

He sounds as out of breath as he feels, can't quell the shudder of his voice, the depth of it as he speaks. Doesn't even try and as soon as the words are out, his attention is zeroed back in on the cock in front of him.

It's pretty, really. Long and thick, an even color with a head already shiny with precome. Felix licks his lips, presses forward nice and slow to grace them over Sam, starting at the tip where he's nice and wet. Licks his lips again, humming pleased at the taste. Keeps going down the length of him, measuring in a roundabout way and imagining just how much practice he's going to need to get the guy to _fit._

Everywhere.

The thought makes him giddy, drags his hands into motion. Fuck he's not even fully hard yet, but he's weighty between Felix's fingers, hot and silky and perfect. A moan escapes him, something light, barely there, as he explores Sam.

  


_Ten outta ten._

Locus blinks at the assessment, all potential worry thrown out the window as soon as those unfocused eyes had looked up and then, moments later, actually zeroed their focus.

Felix looks _mesmerized_. And that? Is the most attractive thing Locus has ever been witness to. He has very little time to dwell on it before soft lips and a warm tongue makes contact, and he's pulled swiftly beneath the undertow that is Felix's undivided attention.

He fills out even more, twitching at the touch, the heat, _everything_. It's so good already, and it can only be categorized as a tease at this point. Felix taking his time, measured, lingering down the length of him, back up.

Shivering, it takes all of his effort to remain standing. His fingers clench minutely against a pale shoulder. He can't take his eyes off the look of Felix—how perfect and sexy and _right_ he looks down there.

It's too much already. Not enough.

Locus doesn't intend to say anything. Doesn't consciously release any noise. It just sort of happens.

A moan.

_"Please."_

  


_Please._

One dark, heavy word makes its way through Felix's consciousness and works its way like liquid metal straight into his gut, settles low at the base of his spine. Gives him a full body quiver, cock twitching in his own pants as he mouths at the one in his hands.

This is perfection. Nothing has come close to feeling this good in all his years. Why had they waited so long for this? They could've been doing this _forever._

Not necessarily the best time to be thinking about it, but Felix can't help the way he imagines it. How close they could've been, how they could've made each other complete years ago.

Because that's exactly what this feels like.

Felix can't quell his urge to press himself into further motion, not with the need inside of him and the pretty way Sam asks for more.

That word still bangs around in his head, the moan, the hushed way Sam begged for Felix's mercy. He isn't one to deny this man, not now, and not ever again.

Pressing forward, Felix's mouth opens over the end of Sam's cock, sucks the head between his lips with a shuddery sound from the depth of his chest. It'll take time for him to get back into the routine of this, especially since Sam is so big, but that's not something he finds he'll mind. Not in the least.

For now, however, he uses his hands to supplement what he cannot take into his mouth. Goes nice and slow, extending his jaw as he wets the way down with his tongue, taking Sam inch by inch into the warm cavern of his mouth.

  


Mercy. Felix gives him _mercy_ almost the moment that rough, whispered word finds its way out of his throat.

Hands work wonders at the base of him, steady and just this side of right with their grip. And then suddenly, heat. All around him. A perfect licking tongue to rest his needy head on. He pulses out a bead of pre, nerve endings wrecked.

This is more than just a physical act. Locus knows this to his core, and yet that knowledge only makes the physical act that much better. He never thought he could be the sort of person to let his guard down. But here Felix is, shuttering up his mind until the only thing left in view is that open mouth, those pretty brown eyes, thin warm fingers wrapped around him.

It's been too long, and Locus simply does not have the stamina to entertain this feeling for all the hours he wishes it would go on.

_"Isaac."_

They'll go again though. Again and again. He'll do everything in his power to make sure Isaac is wanting, entertained, enticed enough to need it.

Locus will do anything for this man. Inside, or outside, the bedroom. Because Isaac is all that matters. All that has mattered for a very long time.

Lids drooped until he's peering at his partner with slivers of grey, Locus releases another dark moan, hand not once pressuring closeness, but simply resting along the back of a pale neck, petting through fine hair just there.

"I'm not— I can't."

Forming sentences is hard.

_"Close."_

  


As it turns out, there are _two_ words that can bring Felix to his metaphorical knees here as he sits between Sam's. The first is the little uttered plea that he never thought he'd hear, how sweet and easy it had been to just give into it, to hear it coming from Sam sounded like praise even. But now they're here with Felix's mouth wrapped so fully around Sam and _his name_ \-- not his codename -- passes through Sam's lips.

When's the last time he'd even heard that coming from anyone?

Who even knew his name anymore?

And to hear it in that same pleading tone, to feel the way Sam rests that broad, warm hand against the back of his neck and not once does it all make Felix feel anything but _known._

It's too much, not enough and Felix hasn't even been touched yet.

He redoubles his efforts. Understands that Sam is close, but it's just as he thought before. They have time, all the time they need for this. Felix could be on his knees nightly, or have Sam tucked up close just the same. It'll never get old, never grow stale. Sam never has.

Felix moans around his mouthful, takes Sam even further into his mouth until the head of him hits the crest of Felix's throat. Doesn't choke, but he does squeeze his eyes shut over the pressure as he lets Sam stay cradled just there for a moment before pulling back. Giving him a taste of what's to come later, when they'll both last a little longer.

His hands never stop moving just the same, taking long, even strokes up and down the shaft of him. Felix never once thinks of pulling his mouth away, keeps sucking for all he's worth, aching for a taste of Sam upon his tongue.

  


How has he gone this long without Isaac with him, next to him, taking him in, both partner and _partner?_

Locus doesn't know.

It doesn't matter.

He gives his warning, and Isaac doesn't ease up in the slightest. Only goes deeper, eyelids clenching shut as if to better concentrate on taking him in, and it's hot and wet and _tight_. So good. So unbearably good.

His cock thickens as if needy to fill up every space in Isaac's eager mouth. Can feel the head of him pressed to the entrance of a perfect throat. Isaac doesn't pull away, not for a long moment, and Locus gives a full body shudder, stomach trembling, muscles trying to relax into the sensation.

This is Isaac.

Isaac's tongue, his sweet wet mouth. Those dexterous fingers stroking him perfectly, as if saying _yes, now, do it._

The hand on Isaac's shoulder delves into long strands of hair. Locus parts his lips around a groan, cock plump, thighs shivering.

"Isaac, I—"

It's the only warning he can give before his whole body tenses up and he's coming. Wet spills across a soft tongue. Locus strokes uncoordinated fingers against Isaac's scalp while he releases himself into the tight, suckling well of his partner's mouth.

It feels like it lasts forever. He's so pent up, needy for it. He doesn't hold Isaac in place necessarily, but his hands are firm where they rest against the other man's head, and Locus encourages him to stay the whole time.

After, Locus sucks in a deep breath and relaxes into that talented mouth, still half-hard and practically keening with how over-sensitive he feels.

Doesn't stop stroking through Isaac's hair, gaze hazy and completely infatuated by the man between his legs.

  


How is it possible to become so lost in this?

Felix has never been able to let himself go, let the thoughts in his head fade to black so fully that he can appreciate his partner to this extent. He's never wanted to, if he's honest, never had the want to indulge himself so fully in another person that he feels taken by their pleasure. He was never there for anyone but himself.

Yet here he is now, body jolting on the inside like a live wire as soon as Sam groans out his name again, legs shaking, hand at the back of Felix's neck pressing up into the thicket of his hair to hold him fast.

Any other person would be put flat on their back for that, and _not_ in a good way.

Felix was the epitome of control in these situations. He was the one who called the shots, do not push or pull, he gives what he wants and nothing more.

As always, Sam is different. Felix finds himself thinking Sam could press him all the way down, fuck into his throat with little mercy and Felix wouldn't think twice before giving it up to him. They held that trust over each other, especially now. Sam wouldn't take more than Felix is willing and ready to give.

So he relaxes completely, opens up as Sam holds him fast and spills hot and needy straight into his mouth. Felix's throat bobs with how much he's given as he swallows around Sam's cock, still mostly hard between his lips as he comes. It's unbearably sexy, if Felix is honest, the way Sam goes relaxed and gooey in his hands, even as he twitches with oversensitivity.

It takes a long moment, but Felix eventually pulls away to let Sam's cock fall from his lips with a slow, deep breath. He glances up with hazy, bleary eyes, needing to see the expression on his partner's face.

  


He is _out_. Splayed open. A fizzle of energy, some tightly coiled thing, released. In this moment, and the ones leading up to it, Locus has no control. None.

It shows on his face. The almost shocked, dopey expression. Widened eyes, slightly parted lips. A clear and present flush on dark cheeks that extends down his neck, warming his chest and stomach. His breathing is heavy even though, all things considered, Isaac did all the work.

_Mine_ , he thinks, dark and vicious, basking in the afterglow of a mind-blowing orgasm, and stuck on how handsome Isaac looks with those lost, foggy eyes.

_This man is **mine.**_

It isn't slowly, but with no sudden movements Locus curls both hands around pale shoulders, leans down, and presses a groan directly into Isaac's mouth. He can taste himself immediately, clean with a hint of salt, and doesn't care, doesn't even think about it, because he needs those lips on his mouth _now_.

_"So good."_

Words whispered between breaks in kisses.

"Perfect. Jesus. _Isaac_."

Each syllable has him pressing closer, until his knees hit the bed and he's guiding them both down. He trails kisses along a sharp, slightly stubbled jaw. Down Isaac's neck. Lingers on his pulse, then back up again until Locus has enough of his mental faculties back to pull away, pin Isaac down with an intense stare.

"My turn?"

  


Seeing the look on Sam's face is worth everything. Felix thinks this so loudly he's amazed that the words don't come spilling from his lips.

He's a little lost in the moment, not quite so used to giving so much of himself away for another person, but he's more than present to take in the wealth of expression on Sam. The way the guy looks so open, doofy, eyes wide and mouth open. It's even light enough from the glow of the alarm that Felix can just make out the flush of his partner. How it extends over the curve of his throat and chest.

Pretty.

Felix doesn't have much more time to think anything but that before Sam descends upon him. Lips press against his own and there is no hesitation in opening for the other man. A moan leaves him as he swallows one of Sam's own, as he's kissed over and over between words that make him feel like a god.

_Good, perfect_. It swells in his chest until Felix is back to panting, the cock in his sweatpants now begging for their attention as Felix comes back to himself. Lets Sam lay him back against the bed to pin him with focus and body alike.

Lost is a good way to put it, but Felix has never felt more at home than in this moment.

Arms come up to wrap around Sam's shoulders as Felix hums, more than pleased.

"Anythin' you want, yeah Sam."

  


_Sam_. There it is again. Like Locus is just a person here. A man, who wants, with a man who has wanted to _satisfy._

And, oh, has Isaac satisfied him.

At least, for the moment, because there is no way Locus hasn't noticed that bulge between Isaac's legs, and where before he had been concerned there would be some hesitation upon seeing it, now, lax, still buzzing with the afterglow of Isaac's attentions, Locus finds nothing to be nervous about.

Isaac will tell him good from bad, after all.

"Everything," he replies, like a demand and a promise wrapped up into one.

Though that does beg the question: what _does_ he want to do this first time?

Straddling Isaac's legs, he sits upright. Places a steadying hand on the other man's chest, staring down at him with inexplicable focus. Eyes rove over every inch of revealed skin. In this position, he can feel a hard pressure cozy up against his own flagging need, separated by a thin layer of fabric.

After a moment, Locus decides to do something that's a bit familiar to him—or at least, something he's always enjoyed.

With measured movements, he leans down and plants a lingering kiss to the center of Isaac's chest. Shuffles lower and trails his mouth down, down, until he's face to face with a pretty happy trail leading beneath the waistband of soft pants.

"You will tell me if you don't like something, yes?"

Flicks a steady grey gaze back up, fingers curling along that elastic band, dipping beneath, but not moving to pull just yet.

  


As far as sexual relationships go, there was a certain protocol that Felix followed for his own mental and physical well being. Lithe man that he's always been (and paranoid to boot) he's never had much of an affinity for people who were larger than himself. Though after all his training and experience there weren't many who could overpower him in a fight, sex was all about letting your guard down, yadda yadda.

He's never wanted to tempt that, having someone take advantage of him in that situation wasn't on his to-do list, so he avoided the situation altogether to avoid even having to think of it.

Now, though, with Sam leaning up above him, strong thighs straddling his hips, broad hand upon Felix's chest -- it doesn't feel as daunting as it should. It's _Sam_ , and the guy knew a million better, more effective ways to tear Felix down than taking advantage of him like this.

It only feels good.

So Felix grins, a little wild, at the response he's given. Just like what he'd said in the kitchen however many hours ago that was.

He wants _everything_ and wants to be given just as much.

Watches, heart beating out of his chest as Sam begins to move down his body, planting pleasant kisses down Felix's chest and stomach until he settles much like Felix had only moments before. Right at the waistband of an unfortunate pair of sweats.

Felix realizes at that point that his hands have fallen to the wayside as Sam travelled down his body. Rectifies that quickly by pushing slender fingers through the guy's hair, marveling at how long it's getting, and cupping Sam's cheek. Feels like he could touch just to feel warm, breathing skin beneath his fingers right now and be completely satisfied.

"Mhm."

It's spoken heavily distracted by just _watching._ Nothing Sam could do right now would put Felix out, turn him off, but he's all too interested in seeing what the guy actually goes through with.

He licks his lips, ready.

  


Eyes flick up one last time to catch that wild grin before Locus, heart beating far too fast in his chest, divests the whole of himself to pleasing Isaac.

Fingers curl, dipping below the band of underwear beneath sweats, and he pulls both off simultaneously, careful to ease elastic over a prominent bulge.

Sam has never looked at another man's cock before. Not like this, and not up close. It isn't a conscious realization but he knows somewhere in the back of his mind that his preferences don't lend to shapes or parts.

He's never been with a man before, yet this first reveal of Isaac's arousal has him _aching_. His own cock, still sensitive and not nearly ready for another round just yet, pulses hungrily between his legs.

With Isaac's legs draped over the side of the bed, Locus adjusts his position until he's kneeling on the ground between them. Wide palms press to pale inner thighs. Push a bit, spreading Isaac wider for his perusal.

God, he's so _handsome._ A perfect cock, curved so slightly, and flushed on the tip. The other man looks absolutely needy for it, and has gotten that way with no more than Locus' own cock in his mouth.

Slowly, Locus dips in. Testing the waters, so to speak. Because the situation itself is unfamiliar to him, he decides to stick to something rather universal, that he's always highly enjoyed.

He tucks his face in below Isaac's arousal. Noses gently at an inner thigh, fingers edging inward until they're curled around both cheeks of a cute little ass.

He pets just there, caressing the crease, making (at least he hopes) his intentions unmistakable.

  


As far as he knows and understands, Sam hasn't ever been with another man. Which, all things considered, doesn't really matter here.

They've gone over it, they want each other, want everything, right? So it doesn't matter what Sam has or hasn't done, but Felix is rather interested in knowing what he would _like_ to know. Or what he wants to do in this.

He keeps still for the most part, letting Sam explore to his heart's content, only moving to press his hips up into the air as Sam takes a moment to pull Felix's sweats and underwear away in one go. From there, he settles back down, though is a little annoyed at the fact that Sam deposits himself on the floor where Felix can't touch.

Peaking over the flat planes of his body Fi is even more annoyed over the fact that he can't exactly see the guy either. Settles back down into the bed with a pout, though it's quick to disappear as he spreads his legs to make room for the man who kneels between them.

Sam moves then, in a decidedly unexpected way, making Felix twitch but not necessarily in a bad way. He's curious to know what Sam wants here, but that apprehension is almost making it better. Felix feels his stomach quiver, his cock twitch, at the first touch of Sam's hands against him.

They're broad and warm, curled around his ass, petting him over just there.

Felix swallows, the sound of it clicking audibly in his throat. He doesn't say anything, widens his stance further, inviting, though he still isn't quite sure where this is going.

Trust is what he feels most, here.

  


This? Is not unfamiliar to him. And perhaps that's why he defaults to it, now. It's been a very long time since he's even regarded intimacy with another person, after all, and though he knows this is _Isaac_ and nothing he does will end up being bad or wrong, Locus still chooses to sink into something that's always knocked him out of an anxious headspace and planted him firmly in some heated daze.

Gently, he presses forward. Noses where his fingers had just been, tongue dipping out for a quick taste. He hums, pleased.

The legs surrounding him seem to relax, spreading even farther in silent invitation, and really that's all the cue Locus needed.

Fingers clench softly when he pulls Isaac apart and dives in for a taste of what he'd _really_ like. A warm, wet tongue presses directly against the rim of a sweet little hole, and Locus groans with it. Flattens his tongue. Lets the damp heat of his mouth rest just there, no attempt to breach but simply a gentle softness caressing Isaac's pretty opening.

Immediately, Locus loses himself. There is nothing in his head aside from the thought of pleasing this man. His nose pushes closer to pale flesh, making it impossible for him to breathe, but that doesn't matter right now.

The only thing that matters is Isaac.

  


Apprehension and the feeling of the unknown clench in Felix's gut as he lays back at Sam's mercy. There is nothing overbearing about their positioning, but Felix can honestly say it's _different_ from anything he's experienced before.

If someone wants to blow you, and Felix has had this happen enough times and in enough positions that he's fairly well versed, they usually don't start so far down. They're there for the dick, essentially, and give off that impression pretty damn quick.

From where he's laying right now, Sam tucked between his thighs, pressing him up to get underneath -- well, it's a different type of impression completely.

One that comes to fruition as soon as he feels a warm, wet appendage snake out for a taste.

Felix inhales, quick and sharp, fingers digging into the sheets below him as Sam presses _in_. Gets his tongue immediately between Felix's cheeks for a long, direct lick to his hole and wasn't there like a _gay protocol_ to follow here?

Isn't rimming like _stage three gay?_

There's no way of stopping the moan that trickles stubbornly from his lips, even as Felix flails internally to understand how this has happened so quickly. And he isn't certain if it kicks him in the stomach with feeling because it's _Sam_ or if it's _just that good._

Because this? Hasn't actually happened to him before.

He's done it before, sure, but in all reality Felix doesn't have very much experience in things like this being done to him.

God, if it isn't actually so fucking good though.

  


That helpless moan is everything Locus could have hoped for. With all his attention invested in Isaac, each small reaction sounds louder when it rings through his head. The pull of cotton when fingers clench through clean sheets. That sharp inhale.

It's _perfect._

After resting just like this for a long moment, Locus pulls away for a slow, deep breath. Nuzzles against the other man's ass, tongue and teeth nibbling along a rounded slope, up to a sensitive inner thigh.

Once he catches his breath, he goes back to the task at hand with nothing but pleasant white noise buzzing through his brain.

This time, his tongue moves. Slow and measured, giving little kitten licks to the hole beneath it. Over and over and over again. He twirls the tip of his tongue in a nice little circle around the outer rim, then flattens it again, pressing more firmly so Isaac can feel the heat of his breath right up against his hole.

Slowly, one hand creeps upward, brushing light fingers against a pair of plump, hairless balls—meticulous. Locus splays his fingers, thumb brushing curiously along the base of Isaac's cock, the rest of his digits resting low on the other man's stomach.

And never once stops the slow undulation of his tongue against Isaac's pretty little hole.

  


_Jesus_ what is this and why hasn't anyone ever told him that it would feel this good?

Felix opens himself fully to Sam's tongue after the brunt of the surprise has worn off. It's Sam, of course he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants, as long as he does it with Felix _only_ for the rest of his life.

The warm, wet wriggle of tongue sets Felix on fire, his skin quivers with feeling, almost oversensitive and nothing has even been _done_ to him. There's a gnawing pressure at the base of his spine already, sitting hot and heavy, making his cock twitch sporadically.

Felix doesn't realize he'd been holding his breath until Sam pulls away for a moment. Air inflates his lungs in an instant giving him a headrush as Felix pants and shudders. Teeth nip at him, nibble gently along the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and all Felix wants is for Sam to bite down. Leave a mark, make this last for as long as possible.

_"Sam."_

It's spoken on the edge of a reedy moan as the guy dives back in, this time curling and twisting his tongue in motions that Felix can't comprehend over the fact that it just feels overwhelmingly _perfect._

Only made more so by the way Sam reaches up, brushing over sensitive balls to linger at the base of Felix's cock. It jumps in greeting, leaking at the head, making a mess of where it stretches up to kiss Felix's stomach.

He wants more. Can't resist the way his body moves and wriggles down onto that talented tongue, encouraging as Felix falls into mindless pleasure.

  


Eyes lidded and hazy, Locus cannot contain the rumbling pressure in his chest when Isaac says his name like that. He groans, pushing in just that much more, melting at how Isaac's hole just _gives in_.

If he wiggled his tongue a bit more pointedly, with more purpose, he's certain he's gotten Isaac wet enough and lax enough to open right up.

That isn't at the forefront of his thoughts, however. Right now, the heat of his partner's cock entices him. It twitches against his fingers. Locus pauses only briefly at the sensation, then slides his arm up, wrapping long dark fingers feather-light around the base. It's a barely-there grip. Exploratory. He slides his hand up, feels slickness at the head of Isaac's needy cock, and _god_ that's—

With a moan, Locus dives back in, savoring this moment, the way Isaac rolls down into his mouth as if eager for more.

Locus is more than willing to give him exactly what he wants.

Ends up playing with sticky precome, swirling it gently around the head of the other man's cock, even while he adds pressure with his wet tongue, _just_ barely breaching that perfect, tight little hole.

  


Sam is _playing with him._

The thought hits him in the chest as Felix tries in vain to catch his breath.

Sam is teasing him, the wet heat of his tongue is swirling and pressing just against Felix's hole in some sort of dance that only he knows the moves for but it's perfectly tormenting in the best way.

And he doesn't stop there. Seems pressed into action by the twitch of Felix's cock, so he takes the time to wrap his fingers just there in a way that feels nothing more than exploratory. Like he's feeling the weight of him, the length, playing with the sticky fluid that escapes the tip just to feel how Felix is _aching_ for him.

There's never been anything like this.

Sam is giving Felix everything in this moment and it's overwhelming in a way that makes him feel like he could come in a split second. If Sam tightened his grip, pressed the barest tip of a finger into him, bit down hard on the smooth inner flesh of Felix's thigh. It would be over.

Instead, he's kept lingering on this precipice, pushing down into the tongue that is just barely beginning to press _inside._

"Sam, c'mon, I need ..."

Felix cuts himself off, frustrated whine at the back of his throat. He doesn't want this to end, but needs to feel that release. Wants Sam back so he can kiss that clever mouth, get his own tongue into certain places, make this man feel as incredible as Felix does in this instance.

  


_I need._

For a moment, seconds extended, Sam thinks about what he could do here (tongue pressing in all the while, just the barest amount, in and out, a wet tease).

There is always the option of taking his time. Of lingering gently over these new, lovely pieces of Isaac that have been revealed to him. Locus has always been unnaturally good at following orders, but here, he could show how willing he is to _serve._

Then again, they have time for this. A new step in their relationship has just blossomed, and Locus has no intention of squandering what years he has left _not_ being on, inside, or around Isaac in some way.

They have time.

It's with this thought that Sam pulls back for another breath. Nuzzles into a shivery thigh. His chest heaves for lack of air, and all the heat coiled up inside him. He's hard again. Gets one heady taste of Isaac and it's all over, cock throbbing heavily between his legs, though there is no thought to even touch himself right now.

No, it's all about Isaac.

With this in mind, Locus dives back in. One hand clenches tight around a perfect round cheek, pulling Isaac wider so he can have a long look of that quivering little hole before his mouth curls up against it once more. He groans, tongue pressing out, pushing _in_ , the pressure of a steady wet appendage licking reverently into Isaac's sweet, needy hole.

The hand around his partner's cock tightens in that same moment. Fingers are slick enough to help the glide. He pumps Isaac, steady and firm, from base to tip, pausing every now and then to swirl his thumb around the head of him.

Wants to feel it. Isaac's thighs shuddering around him, his cock heavy and warm in the palm of his hand. Wants to feel Isaac come.

  


There's a marked pause, a stillness of the room just after Felix speaks. Sam never once stops, but it's still felt between them. It's contemplation, Sam understanding Felix's plea and quietly deciding just what he should do in response.

Felix feels his heart beating out of his chest, the pounding of it reflected in the surge of blood through his cock. He could whine again, feels like begging on the edge of each quivery moan his chest releases, out of control and at the end of his patience.

It's _wild_ and this is just the first small step between them.

That certainly bodes well.

He'd laugh at the thought, really he would, but there's movement suddenly between his legs once more and Sam takes his breath away. Nuzzles sweetly at his leg, and though that would be enough to break him (so unused to genuine _affection_ that he is) more is thrust upon him in that same instance.

Sam dives back in, pulls Felix wide open before that clever tongue is pressing inside of him, curling steady and sweet while the hand at Felix's cock tightens. It's the perfect grip that starts an even stroke making Felix call out immediately into the air around them.

" _Fuck_ , yes."

It's exactly what he'd needed, like Sam could read his mind. Felix moves with the pressure against his hole, the strokes of his cock, back and forth with his body on autopilot seeking the heady pleasure Sam so readily gives him.

He could do this forever, nothing has been this good, this perfect, but the pressure at the base of his spine builds just as quickly as he'd thought it would. He's so close, on the edge, legs quivering, body a live wire.

_"Sam."_

He speaks his partner's name again, unable to help himself. It's likely the only warning Sam will receive.

  


_Yes_ , he thinks, dark and deadly. Isaac whimpers and whines, squirms in his grip, pushing, thrusting. He's so _receptive_ it serves as an addictive head rush.

Locus groans heavily into the hole now clenching nice and tight around the smooth tip of his tongue. He curls it. Licks around the sweet inside of Isaac's hole, imagining getting a few fingers into the man, curling them just right, spreading him open until he's a mess, begging, incapable of holding any thought in his mind that doesn't involve Locus.

It's the call of his name that does him in.

He doesn't change the pace of his strokes, but his grip tightens so slightly around that thick throbbing cock. It's fascinating to think about. How he can feel Isaac's pulse, the heat in his body so smooth against his palm.

Every spill of precome slicks his way. Locus has never touched another cock before but he can already tell how _addicted_ he is to it. Such a lovely sensory experience. Could just hold and caress Isaac for hours, explore the length of him, or hold his hand in a perfect tight circle that the other man could thrust into as much, and as many times, as he'd like.

When Isaac needs him, Sam will be there.

  


It's hard to know exactly what gets to him in the end.

Sam doesn't change anything much, keeps that perfect curling tongue exactly where it fits best, right up against Felix's hole, slipping inside and out, making him nice and wet and lax.

The hand around Felix's cock, however, tightens just the slightest bit as Sam groans against him, the vibration of it against his hole, the grip of the hand.

It all coalesces into the perfect storm and Felix is coming, silently, harder than he remembers ever coming in his measly existence.

Rope after rope spills from him, painting his stomach and leaking out onto Sam's fingers where they grip around him. Felix's body arches, tightens every muscle before it melts into complete relaxation.

A sigh, a whimper. Felix leaves himself splayed wide open for Sam as he comes down nice and slow, body already close to overstimulation, but the ache of it is too sweet to stop.

  


And then it happens.

With no sound, Isaac comes for him. His body clenches up, sweet little hole tightening around Locus' tongue. Spurts of come slick over Locus' dark fingers, his knuckles, across the other man's stomach.

It's hot, messy, and impossibly _sexy_. Enough to make Locus groan again, tongue sliding out to flutter sweetly against Isaac's quivering ( _needy_ , wanting, aching) hole.

He pulls back finally with a deep measured breath. Straightens up just enough to rest his chin on Isaac's thigh. Doesn't remove his hand from around the other man's cock, preferring to keep up a slow, gentle motion, intent on wringing every drop of come from his partner.

Locus licks his lips. Peers up the long length of Isaac's body, eyes half-lidded and dazy with affection, _hunger._ He doesn't speak for a long moment. Just watches the other man relax, splayed out and rather satisfied looking, on his bed.

He loves this. Everything about this.

After a long several moments, his hand stops caressing the other man's warm, messy cock, and he removes it slowly, holding it in such a way that he won't get warm come all over his sheets.

"Isaac?"

Spoken fondly from his position kneeled between his partner's spread legs.

  


"Mm?"

A questioning little sound comes from him immediately as Sam says his name (his _name_ ) after the long few moments of silence.

Felix feels uncharacteristically calm and serene. He's covered in his own cooling come which isn't exactly a plus, but he feels fulfilled and relaxed. Sam had stroked him to completion and through the aftershocks so perfectly there's nothing left in Felix but the lay there.

Completely sated.

For the moment.

It's not been too awful long since he'd rubbed one out himself, he'd been thinking of Sam in the shower yesterday morning and couldn't help himself, but he still feels like there's a coil settling at the base of his spine.

Like he could go another round or two if given a few minutes to recoup. Which sounds fucking perfect, if he does say so himself.

For now though, he settles with flopping himself out completely against Sam's bed, lax and content.

  


Helpless to the expression, a wide, bright grin pulls over Locus' lips. He tucks his face against a pale upper thigh and smothers the smile there.

Locus hasn't had many sexual partners in his life, but of those, Isaac has been the most expressive. And for someone who feels satisfaction in _satisfying_ , this emotive, relaxed, easy air between them feels like a drug.

Cute.

Isaac is _cute_.

"I'll be right back."

Slowly, Locus extricates himself from his position and rises, naked, from the floor. Strides out of the room just like that, and when he returns it's with a damp washcloth and an incredibly thoughtless smile still pulling at his lips. He'd washed his hands, brushed his teeth, and when he approaches Isaac, sets about cleaning up spent come from the man's stomach and softening cock before it dries and turns into an uncomfortable mess.

Setting the washcloth aside, Locus crawls onto the bed (small as it is) in a more proper position, and touches Isaac's arm.

"Come here?"

Nods to the space in front of him.

_"I'll be right back."_

Not usually words that put Felix on edge, but they make him open his eyes all the same. Make him watch as Sam stands slowly to make his way out of the room. It's too dark to make out much of the guy as he's walking away, but Felix keeps an eye on his partner nonetheless.

Doesn't quite understand his own clinginess, but he does know that he can't stand the thought of Sam being gone for long. Brings an itch underneath his skin.

They're the only two around for lightyears, Sam is the only other person Felix has seen in a year, and yet the thought sticks with him. How he doesn't want to let the other man out of his sight.

Felix doesn't have to fret for long, and doesn't show that he'd done so in the least, as Sam returns. The damp cloth in his hand is brushed immediately over Felix's stomach and he hums his appreciation for the sentiment.

He doesn't mind _getting_ messy, but the aftermath can be annoying to deal with if left too long.

After that job is finished though, Sam crawls into his bed, settling at the head and he's definitely close enough for Felix to see clearly, even in the relative dark.

Handsome as always, sturdy build, broad and muscled, oh and he's _hard again_. Felix certainly notices this little tidbit first and can't help the way it punches him in the gut. He licks his lips and shifts along the bed, groaning pleasantly at his stretching muscles.

Settles on all fours as he adjusts to crawl his way languidly up the bed, answering Sam's question without words. He settles against the larger man as he was instructed, sitting in the space in front of Sam only to lean back into him, pleased as punch at the thick heat lingering at his back.

  


He wasn't sure if Isaac would comply with his wish to remain close. At the same time, he didn't have a mind to think the other man _wouldn't_. Still, it's nice to hear that soft groan and watch Isaac crawl upward into a more proper position on the bed, occupying the small amount of space Locus was capable of metering out for him.

Their bodies fit together like puzzle pieces.

Immediately, Locus tucks his face against Isaac's shoulder and breathes deeply. One arm curls beneath the other man's head. The other, around his waist, hand splaying itself over a fit, bare stomach.

"Isaac," he mumbles softly, heat pooling at the base of his spine when his rather _interested_ need makes contact with warm skin and perfect pressure.

Locus stretches, rubbing his mostly-hard cock against the other man's lower back.

"You're perfect."

A fact, coming from Locus' lips. He mouths at soft skin along his partner's neck, rocking his hips gently—a suggestion, but not a demand.

  


Strange thoughts have always made a home in Felix's head, one of the things that's made him great at his job, always thinking about the unexpected. He found new and unusual solutions to things most people weren't even aware could happen.

It doesn't serve him so well at the moment, however, if he's honest with himself.

Because all he can think about is how undeniably _right_ this feels. Like this was always the end of the line for them, the best option they could have landed up in. As much as Felix knew Sam was his now, it's unnerving to think that they fit together so perfectly they were meant to end up here.

Too much.

He'd never say such a thing out loud, of course, though just as he cements that to himself, Sam has to go and open his big fat mouth.

Perfect, he says, but it feels more than just this, them together in this moment, somehow.

Felix finds himself swallowing past a heady weight on his chest, it fights with the quiver in the pit of his stomach as Sam curls around him. There's pressure at the small of his back, Sam rocking into him mindlessly, at his waist where Sam pulls him in close. Felix is absolutely absorbed by the man behind him.

And yet he doesn't feel imprisoned or enclosed. Surrounded but under no threat of anything but maybe a nice round two.

Which he is _definitely_ into, by the way.

"Hm, tell me something I don't know."

His go to, cover up anything with a grin and a smarmy attitude, but Felix has relaxed into Sam completely once again. Has one arm wrapped around Sam's at his waist while the other finds Sam's hip behind himself, grip encouraging the noncommittal thrusts.

  


A rush of air escapes his nose at the cocky quip. Locus tucks himself away in the warmth and scent of this man, humming some mindless noise when a hand sets itself on his hip and pulls him in.

It's all the encouragement he needs.

Locus rocks himself gently, in no hurry. Thinks, maybe if he waits long enough, Isaac will allow him to grip his cock from behind. Maybe they could get off like that, together, Locus spilling needily against Isaac's back because honestly that's all it would take to push him over the edge.

Any part of this man, against him, is arousing.

"Hm," he replies after a moment of just basking. Not that he takes Isaac's comment _seriously_ , but, well.

Locus feels playful.

"The Hydrus One Galaxy is point-zero-seven million light years away from the Milky Way Galaxy."

Listed off as the bland statement it is, complete with a patently straight face.

  


Of course he would.

Felix can't resist the amusement that presses from his chest at the little quip that is spoken in response to his own. Sam hadn't taken him seriously, but that's the joke of it, and it's so _Sam_ , there's nothing Felix can do but laugh.

It's small, a little chuckle that's half breathless from the way the guy presses into him from behind, but it's in the air between them nonetheless.

Felix is pleased with it, with them. Has another strange intrusive thought about how far they've come as people in the short amount of time they've been stuck on _The Attie_ together.

Isn't upset at the fact.

Expression on Sam's face can be read from the tone of the man's voice so Felix doesn't turn around at the words, shakes his head before leaning it back against Sam's shoulder. Such an idiot. Felix loves it.

"Something I don't know, Sam."

Felix comes right back, because he can, though it's a total lie and Sam probably knows it. Doesn't matter, they're just talking to talk because it's _good._

The hand at Sam's hip begins to wander at that, though, down the length of the guy's thigh, a light scratch, before traveling back up. Felix arches back into the roll of Sam's hips as well, willing the man to use his body as much as he likes.

  


Isaac laughs. Calls him _Sam_ , here, so easily. It's not on the edge of a moan. Not when he's riding an endorphin high and too helpless to think. Not when he's righteously angry and trying to get Locus' attention.

He just says it, simply.

An ache shudders through Locus' chest. It expands. Fills him up like a balloon. He doesn't have time to dwell on it because Isaac touches him immediately after, pulling his thoughts to how _good_ a gentle touch feels after going without for so very long.

Locus nuzzles into the fine hair just behind his partner's ear.

Mumbles, "Is that a challenge?"

They both know Isaac was clueless to the pointless fact Locus had thrown out. But that's what makes this so good. Like a game, at no one's particular expense.

Though one Locus might have trouble winning, if the other man keeps arching into him like that. Just a slow heady roll, so very inviting. It entices him to hitch his hips a bit more firmly, making sure to rub every long inch of himself right up against Isaac's back.

  


There's a mumble from behind him, something about a challenge, and normally Felix would bolster up. A challenge was something of a specialty, for either of them really. Sam liked to play hard to get in that, but he was just as much a sucker for it as Felix was on a normal day.

This, however, wasn't that, and Felix doesn't really know if he wants to pick and poke right now. His head is full of strange thoughts and all he really wants to do is feel Sam get off behind him.

Or maybe he could convince the guy to lay down, slot that thick, pretty cock between Felix's thighs. Give him a nice, warm hole to thrust into while Felix gets to ride him from the front.

Though something simple sounds just as good, Felix could flip around, cozy up to Sam to get a hand around the guy. Could give his mouth something better to do than throw out challenges, have Sam preoccupied with Felix's own.

The positions are endless, now that Felix thinks about it, and he's craving all of them at the same time.

Thinking about it, feeling the way Sam curls into him, is actually getting him a little hot and heavy just the same.

"The only challenge I see right now is getting you to come a third time tonight, actually."

There. Try that one on for size, big guy.

  


_"Third?"_

The surprised reply pours out of him before he can even think to rein it in.

Locus blinks, trying to piece it together because no part of him believes Isaac has lost count after the number _one_ , and they're kind of in the middle of two, so—

Going until they just can't anymore. Is that what he's proposing?

It makes Locus' stomach flutter. His cock fills out, giving a noticeable throb right where he hitches it firmly against Isaac's back.

No, Locus is most certainly not against this idea.

"Only if you're willing to keep up," he says, factual. Voice low, though, and lowering the more he thinks about _a third time_ with this man. Jesus.

The hand at Isaac's stomach drifts. Sinks lower, playing with that light trail of hair before his knuckles brush lightly over silky skin.

  


Gottem.

Felix grins wide and accomplished at the surprised tone of voice he gets out of Sam. Hadn't even been trying and still he hits the nail right on the head.

Can certainly tell as the cock behind him gives a noticeable hitch right against his back. It's a heady feeling, to be able to have such an effect on this person. The stone statue behind him can melt like warm chocolate at something so simple as Felix's words.

Though that isn't really fair now, Sam has come a long way from the machine he liked to pretend to be not too long ago.

They were both softer now, at least for each other. And maybe that's okay.

A hum presses from Felix's chest as his 'challenge' is turned right back around on him with a smooth, deep voice. Sam follows it up with a hand trailing along Felix's stomach, and _yeah_ he's all about that.

Presses up into the touch because he wants to and he can, though he doesn't move much further than that. Sinks into Sam because he knows they'll take care of each other now, in this, in everything.

"I could be persuaded."

Hearkens back to their earlier conversation with an easy grin.

  


Such a coy man. Languid and lavish, his body moving in such addictive ways. As mesmerizing as Isaac's words can be at times, the slope of his pelvic bone, taper to his waist, and rolling hips all serve to be equally as addicting.

Just having him here, pressed close, both of them naked in Locus' bed, is a balm like no other. They can be everything for each other. This moment only cements that fact.

"Could you?"

He huffs an amused sound, pleased at this small reference to earlier that day. When Isaac had approached him in the kitchen, pleased as could be, with a smarmy grin on his face, and poked Locus for his almost-kiss.

Earlier _that_ day, and now they're _here._

He couldn't be happier about how everything turned out.

Locus eases into a metered motion of his own. Grinds headily against the other man, his cock full and leaky—satisfied by Isaac's mouth earlier, but eager to have any part of the man again. A few times.

Isaac presses up against his hand, and Locus unfurls his fingers to welcome him. Curls them around the length of a pretty cock, eager to explore this part of Isaac at a more languid pace.

"How so?"

  


Easy reactions aren't something Felix thought he'd grow so attached to, but the proof is in the way Sam laughs, some small amused sound that takes nothing to pull from the man. It's pleasing, almost just as much as the way Sam presses into him, cock thick and leaking against the small of his back.

It's hard to know what gets him going enough again for his cock to throb.

That amusement, the hot heat behind him, or the way Sam wraps a hand around his cock nice and easy. The obvious answer could be the correct one, but everything happens all at once so it's actually not easy to tell.

The feeling of it all at once, maybe, and the way Sam speaks so coy and cute behind him.

Sam was right. This is perfect.

Felix hums, cock warming with blood once again, though it's still too soon to have him hardening up.

"You're on the right path."

His voice is low now just the same, rough as the way Sam thrusts into him begins to affect him. It just feels so good, to know that his body is pleasing to this man, to understand that he can make Sam feel this way when just that morning he never really thought that was a possibility.

"Think you can manage."

  


"With a little guidance, I'm certain I can."

It's his turn to be cocky. There's a gorgeous, deadly, vicious, attractive man in his bed, after all. He's felt Isaac's mouth around him, and spilled inside that warmth (just the memory has him plumping up, shuffling down just a bit so his cock can slot against the crease of Isaac's pretty ass and rub right there, up and down).

They've already come together. And here Isaac remains, in his bed, cock twitching nicely in the palm of Locus' hand.

"The question is, however," he begins, words gaining that thick quality, where sound pushes more from his chest than his throat.

"How would you like it this time?"

Open. Wordy, even. Locus feels _safe_ here. Drunk on a deadly mix of affection and arousal.

His grip tightens a bit, giving one languid pull.

  


It's been months that Felix has thought of Sam in his bed, each position different, each scenario, any way he moved them around it was just him and Sam. Yet none of that holds a candle to the Sam in his bed at this moment.

It's different in a way that makes Felix feel a little blindsided, wanting and needy too of course, but it's nothing like he thought Sam might actually be.

This one is _talkative_ for one, words and expression moving easily between sarcastic and soft and rough in that tone that rattles from his chest and makes Felix feel fluttery on the inside.

Sam is _dirty talking_ him right now, in the tamest of ways, but Felix hadn't ever thought that was actually possible.

It presses all the right buttons, okay.

Felix keens on the inside, tone from Sam's chest pressing heady vibrations through his back and quivering down to where his cock is awakening between his thighs once again. Though just because Felix is _here for this_ doesn't mean he's to be counted out just yet.

He's the mouthy one here, damnit.

(Even though the way Sam slides down the bed just that bit to slot his cock between Felix's ass cheeks makes him shudder and lose what he was going to say for a split second.)

"Oh I get to choose?"

Fuck his voice is more gravel than not, but Felix doesn't even try to clear it away.

"How gracious of you, Samuel."

It's meant to poke and tease without giving too much of what he actually wants away, but if he's honest he's an open book right now. His cock, if nothing else, gives him away completely as Sam gives one heady stroke and Felix pulses in his hand.

  


The thing about this—the thing that makes this different from what Locus has had before, long before he was ever _Locus_ , but just Sam, some slightly awkward kid stumbling through life—is that him and Isaac are equals, on all fronts.

Tit for tat.

They push and pull and move together like an ocean wave moves against the shore. Symbiotic.

For his effort, Locus is given another quip in reply, and honestly? That gets him _going_.

Well, that and the clear and present way Isaac's cock pulses in his hand, plumping up bit by bit. That gives him away more than anything else. Keeps Locus in the running, in the very least.

Even if the name _Samuel_ makes him shake his head, recognizing it for the coy little prod it is. Mouthy little thing.

"Well," he says, prodding a little bit himself, a playful, fluttery feeling in his gut.

"I would rather you tell me about those fantasies of yours, and I can choose from there."

  


As ever and always, no matter how much Felix pokes, Sam takes it so readily. Usually it's done so with a roll of his eyes, a shake of his head, or that weighty silence of judgement that Sam is always so ready to give him.

Here, with the way Sam's voice lowers, the way he continues to hold Felix's cock nice and firm, how he speaks his own quips so easily, it's almost _better._

Pushes every button Felix has ever thought of having, that's for damn sure.

His body arches up into Sam's hand as he actually thinks upon his answer, if he's going to give in so readily and what that could do for him, or if he should poke and prod just a little more to see what else he can get Sam to do.

Decisions, decisions.

"Would you, now."

He starts, coy as ever, body lounging bonelessly against Sam.

"Well, my top three don't involve your bed, so I'm really at a loss here."

  


He _knows_ he can't win this game. Locus does not have the depth of experience that Isaac has with talking (in circles, around people, beyond their heads, to get what he wants, any which way he chooses).

And yet, the game itself is so very enticing. Even when that reply punches him right in the gut.

_Top three._

_Don't involve your bed._

The thought that Isaac has imagined him about as many times as he's imagined Isaac just—

_things to him._

__

__

Locus groans, head sinking into a warm fuzzy place the more he clings to that thought. His hips roll forward, making sure to cozy up nice and firm until his cock is cradled in the cute cleft of Isaac's ass, and he can give a languid, insistent grind. A thick drop of precome spills out the little hole on his tip and smears just there, against Isaac's skin, marking him.

**Mine.**

"Would you like my hand, then?"

All thought of holding back flies out the window. He's been bested. He knows this. Now, Locus can barely contain the images traipsing through his own head.

"Or maybe you want to try my mouth next."

  


The feeling of success has never paled so much compared to anything in Felix's life. He would take a job well done over pretty much anything, especially if it involved besting _Sam_ of all people.

Here, though, Felix is quick to realize nothing is better than feeling Sam groan against him and thrust in that perfect way, because of his words alone. Felix knows that's what it had to have been, the thought of Felix _thinking about them_. And if that's all it took, then Felix will gladly spill every latent desire he's ever imagined of them.

Can't wait to explain in detail and have Sam recreate each and every desire with him.

In due time, however, because Sam is into this right now and Felix is living for it. Wouldn't be able to move from this spot if their tiny world was ending.

"Your hand."

Felix's breath is laboured again, in the best way, as he speaks quick and decisive. He'd already thought of it before, wanting to come just like this, pressed up fully against Sam. Either facing him where they can explore mouth to mouth, or just like this, with Sam pressing between his legs to fuck into him nice and slow.

"Now you get to pick how you come."

Felix undulates back into the cock against him, already addicted to the feeling of wet warmth pressed up between his cheeks.

"In my hand, or fucking between my thighs."

  


_Decisive._

His chest expands with a metered, relieved breath, that in no way quells the ache in his bones or the heat pooling at the base of his spine.

Not when Isaac keeps _talking_ like that's just easy at this point. And maybe it is, for him, but Locus keeps sinking into this man and finds that he really doesn't mind how weighty and almost helpless it makes him feel.

Isaac will take care of him. They've always looked out for each other.

_Between my thighs._

Just thinking about it pulls a groan from his chest.

Slotting his heavy cock right between those soft pale thighs. Rutting into Isaac while his partner rolls back, a nice tight sleeve for Locus to fuck into until he spills hot and messy into that perfect hole made just for him. How he could languish there, spent cock rocking back and forth until every last drop is drained from him, smeared on Isaac's skin.

Another rough moan, one he buries in Isaac's shoulder.

"Thighs," he gets out, already needy for it.

"Want to come with you this time."

  


"Good choice."

There's no hesitation in the way Felix speaks, but his voice already has a fucked out tone to it. Rough and needy, excited for this new prospect, how they fit so well together even just here, talking about the things they want from each other.

God, and the way Sam groans against him, like he's already pushing nice and wet between Felix's thighs, like he's feeling the clutch of smooth, pale skin against his cock already.

It's _sexy_ , alright, and Felix is more than affected, more than ready now even though his cock has just been held tenderly for the last however long, he's flushed and wanting. Feels just as needy for this as Sam had just expressed. Yeah, this is more than good.

"Think there's lube stashed around here somewhere?"

Questions, nice and cheeky, like he'd actually allow either of them to get up and go check at this point in time. No, no, more like he has other things in store for later and the question is just another poke.

Speaks it as he begins to shuffle around, giving Sam more room.

  


"No," he says, practically panting the single syllable. Locus immediately dislikes knowing that there is in fact no lube on this ship whatsoever. He would have catalogued it in the manifest.

His disappointment doesn't last long. Isaac rearranges until he's in a better position _to offer himself up._

Locus' mouth waters, anticipatory.

Everything about this man turns him on. He'd had the suspicion these last few months. Had been experimenting with the idea, fantasies of different concepts and arrangements of them together.

Had gotten off to each one.

But now that the metaphorical floodgates have opened, Locus realizes this is going to become an addiction.

Isaac is his addiction.

He slots himself nice and close, releasing his hold around Isaac's pretty cock for just a moment while he finds a good position for them.

"But," he says softly, eyes drawn to the slope of Isaac's shoulder blades. "I don't think that will be much of a problem."

Because this man? Has him _messy_ with desire. He's already leaking like nothing else. Little beads of precome pearling at the head of his cock, eager to rub between Isaac's legs.

Sam takes himself in hand and presses his cock against Isaac's pert little ass, oozing a sweet drop right there as if to emphasize his point.

He wraps his arm back around to the other man's front almost immediately, curling his fingers firmly around a thick, pulsing cock.

  


He'd been the one to suggest this position and it's only after moving into it does Felix realize what a disadvantage he'd just put himself in.

Laying at his side Sam practically dwarfs him from behind, one thick arm under his head while the other curls immediately around his waist. Sam encompasses him whole, chest to back, hot hard cock pressing itself needy and wanting against Felix's ass.

With any other man Felix would be up and away faster than anything.

Sam, however, even here, just feels safe.

Felix breathes in, heavy and deep, as he feels sweet precome ooze out against his ass. Each drop only accentuating Sam's words, and yeah okay, maybe Felix is pretty damn into that too.

Into everything _Sam._

Felix lets out that shuddery breath, opens his legs to let Sam settle in even closer, doesn't want to keep his partner waiting, and really he wants to feel the way Sam presses against him just the same. Wants to feel held steady as they come together.

He twitches into Sam's hand, eager, but relaxes back against the man in the same moment. They have time, even if they're shooting for a round three.

All the time in the world.

  


Legs part after a deep breath (one Locus notices, can't help himself) and he slides close, locked into place and groaning a rough, practically hurt noise at how amazing this feels already.

The pressure, warmth. Being utterly surrounded by Isaac. How they sink into each other. How Locus overshadows him so bodily up close like this.

That sticks to the front of his mind, actually. How easy it is to curl around this man like a grappling pose during their training. Only, this is clearly far more intimate. Still, the basic rules remain firmly in place.

If Isaac taps out, Locus will be off him _immediately._

Until then, there is nothing but the way Isaac goes boneless in his grip. How nice it is to stroke his cock from base to tip, a firm hold with some give to it—patient. Indulgent.

"I could tease you all day like this."

Words come out thoughtless and gruff.

He starts to move his own hips, rutting himself more deeply between warm thighs.

"Keep you in hand until you have nothing left to give me."

It isn't dirty talk so much as it's a statement of _fact._ At least, that's how Locus' mind processes it.

  


Given the room, Sam immediately settles between Felix's legs like he was always meant to be there. Doesn't hesitate to press intimately close and Felix closes his legs around Sam just the same, can't help the way he gives a full body shudder at the first achy, deep thrust of Sam's hips against his own.

The way Sam holds his cock nice and steady doesn't hurt the situation any, that patient grasp, how he strokes firm and even. It feels like _more_ than anything Felix has ever been given.

Feels right.

And then Sam opens his mouth and flips Felix's entire world on its head with a few thoughtless words spoken with that deep gravel.

"Fuck."

It's nothing more than a whisper, but it comes with such a visceral feeling there's no real way Felix can keep from speaking it. His stomach quakes, skin too tight and shuddery, his whole body arches back into Sam without conscious thought.

Cock throbbing in Sam's hand, Felix isn't surprised to feel the first leak of pre ooze down from his slit and over the other man's fingers.

He moves then, with Sam's own movement behind him, thrusts back against his hips and tightens the grip of his thighs in one fell swoop.

  


_Oh._

A thought occurs to him when that single word slips from Isaac's lips—when the man moves seamlessly, a slick drop of warm pre sliding over Locus' fingers, thighs tightening even while he thrusts back into Locus' dark, thick cock.

Does Isaac like it when he states these facts?

By this point, Locus' eyes have slipped shut, but this inner question makes him blink them back open to peer down, curiously.

Close as they are, he can feel every intimate inch of Isaac against him. The smooth skin of his back, that plush ass where it seats itself in Loc's lap, squirming, held neatly between angled pelvic bones. Like this, there is no denying the pretty shiver that stutters up Isaac's body. How his cock pulses sweetly in Locus' hand.

"You would like that, then?"

Less of a question. More like he already knows the answer, and is curious to expound the results of this knowledge.

"Is it my hand that you like? Or maybe ..."

He squeezes, dragging a tighter grip much slower from the very base of Isaac, all the way to the tip. Pauses just long enough to circle his thumb achingly slow around the tip, humming when sticky precome smooths the way for a nice slick glide.

"It's the thought that I wouldn't stop. That I know you're insatiable, so I would keep you like this, just like this ..."

Back to the base. Another firm, paced, patient pull up.

"Forever."

  


It isn't that Felix imagined he had the upper hand here, in any way, isn't like he thought he was the one with all the cards and perfect words to mess up the man behind him, but what he did think was that he was more immune to something like this than Sam was.

In a way.

The guy hasn't had anyone for a decade or longer, and Felix is well versed in sexual relations, okay. This, however, is unlike anything he's ever experienced and he's _feeling it._

In the way Sam moves against him, hand around his cock tightening from its indulgent tease into something firm and aching. In the way that deep voice reaches deep down inside Felix to scramble up his insides, with nothing but a few well placed words.

Maybe it's because they're true. No one's known Felix well enough to look at him and speak truthful facts in the way that Sam does to make it sound like the most _realistic dirty talk he's ever heard._

Who the fuck gave him the right, okay?

Not that Felix has the mind to put any of those thoughts into coherent sentences at the moment. Nope, he's fully at Sam's mercy and can't even think to question if that's a bad thing. Trust is paramount here and it swells up in his chest along with every other emotion bubbling just beneath the surface.

Felix thrusts into Sam's grip upon his cock, can't stop the way it throbs and twitches in the larger man's hand. Makes the mistake of looking down to watch, sees the way they come together, dark and light skin melding into one in the dim of the room.

Fuck, next time they're doing it with the lights on.

"Why don't you put your money where your mouth is and _fuck me._ "

He says instead of anything else, trying, somehow, to get the upper hand back in his corner. Or at least move them to the middle somewhere, so he doesn't feel so scrambled up on the inside.

  


Words sear his insides. Stop his thoughts long enough to stop his hand, momentarily.

Of course, he understands what Isaac means by it. He wants Locus to move. To grind between that perfect hole made just for him, those soft thighs already getting messy with each spill of pre oozing out Loc's slit.

But the verbage presents _other_ images as well.

"I would like that," he says, the tone in his voice turning wrecked.

Doesn't even think to censor his thoughts. Right now, him and Isaac are one. To think something, and to say it, are the same thing.

"If you let me. Your hole was so sweet, Isaac. I could open you up with my tongue again, keep you spread wide for hours."

The image has him moving his hand again in that same patient rhythm. Only this time, it's coupled with his own helpless thrusting. Breath picks up. He tucks his nose close to Isaac's shoulder. Thrusts so deep, at a particular angle, that the head of his cock kisses the base of Isaac's own.

God, he's going to come there, soon. Exactly like that. He's going to rut _in_ and spill himself right between Isaac's legs.

  


_"I would like that."_

Felix already has his mouth open ready to reprimand the man who is currently already stuck between his thighs and refusing to move. Of course he would like that, they're here right now, aren't they?

Only the tone that Sam uses is absolutely ruined and he _keeps going._

Words flow from the man's lips like he hasn't even had the chance to properly think them, but they're there, out in the open and Felix can feel himself reacting as soon as the first one touches his ears.

"Jesus, Sam."

It's spoken on the edge of a whine, something high and reedy as Sam begins to move them together, cock between Felix's thighs moving in tandem with the hand wrapped around his own.

One thing he never took Sam for? An ass man.

But fuck does he talk up a good game.

Felix is left quivering, thrusting up into Sam's hand, back into his cock, totally immersed in the little heady, heated world they created for themselves curled up in Sam's bed.

"Yeah, yes. You can, gonna have to do that for how big you are. _Fuck_."

A hand comes up to reach back behind himself and Felix immediately curls his fingers into the long strands of hair that tickle at his shoulder where Sam has pressed forward. He pets through them unthinkingly, needing something to do with himself other than be taken for a ride.

  


_Yes._

Isaac agrees. Wants him. Wants them to _try that_ , and Locus doesn't know much about the other man's previous experiences, but he does know he's never seen Isaac with someone of Loc's stature, so it feels, immediately, like an immense amount of trust placed in his hands.

Something he covets.

He groans at easy flowing words, how Isaac calls him _big_ , and thrusts just that much harder, nearing the edge even if he just wants to stay like this for the next eternity.

Fingers card through his hair, and labored breath hitches in his throat immediately. It's a sensitive spot for him, but to be so deeply connected in this moment, so _full_ with affection, need, heat, this one small touch hits him more strongly than anything else.

"Yes," he agrees immediately, cock leaking steadily while he thrusts in and out, the tight warmth made for him getting slicker with each pass.

Without thought, his hand picks up pace a bit, too, to match.

"I would make sure you're ready. More than. Have you come against my tongue over and over, until you're boneless and lax enough to take me."

_And then._

"I know you're tight. Nice and tight and warm— _Isaac._ "

Locus stops on an inward thrust, suddenly. Every muscle in his body pulled tight, nerve endings on edge.

Shivers, nuzzling and planting kisses along Isaac's shoulder. Sucks in a few labored breaths.

He's close. So very, very close.

  


Sam talks and talks, each word digging into Felix deeper and deeper along the way. Spears jolts of heat through him as he imagines how that would go down, mind filling in images to mimic Sam's words.

He can see it now, Sam on his knees, eyes dark and hazy and unfocused as Felix spills into that open mouth, white come pulsing over dark lips over and over until Felix is all Sam can taste for days to come.

Thinks of how he might use some of that to slick the way for a few thick fingers, easing in nice and slow, spreading Felix wide.

How many would it take, two? Three? Before he's ready to shuffle around, ass up to present himself to Sam for the taking.

He can practically feel it now, such a similar motion to the one Sam's displaying here, thrusting into the tight channel of Felix's thighs. He speeds up, seemingly mimicking Felix's thoughts, or maybe spurring himself on with heavy words.

Though suddenly, with a harsh moan of Felix's name, Sam stops himself with a heady shudder and Felix expects a warm gush of come to spread over his thighs and cock. He's so ready for it he's almost disappointed when Sam stops himself just in time.

Shows such with a low, uneven groan.

"Got yourself goin' a little too much there, huh, big guy?"

Spoken with a lilt of amusement, though Felix is panting just the same.

"Like the thought of fucking me that much?"

Felix doesn't move his hips more than a passing flex, but he does card his fingers evenly through Sam's hair. Pets nice and soothingly.

"Get me ready and you can have me any time."

Can't help the little tease, though, when can he ever?

  


Locus is reminded how wildly out of his element he is here. For as easy as it is to spill whatever thought flies through his head, Isaac pets through long dark locks and answers in such a teasing way. 

He never realized how arousing the other man's attitude could be, until it's shown to him here.

It's interesting, too. Teasing words that flash heated images through his brain (him on his knees, taking in Isaac's cock, then licking his sweet hole until he comes again just from that—wants to spend hours, _days_ down there, savoring his taste, how he quivers, if Isaac can be persuaded to clench those thighs around his head to keep him planted firmly in place until the other man is _done with him_ ).

Some idiotic, shivery whimper catches in his throat before releasing itself through his nose.

"Mmh."

Agreeing with every word spoken.

"Still want to come with you."

A gentle mumble. Locus doesn't move his hips, but he does move his hand. Slow, almost worshipful. Takes his time so he can feel every vein, every throb.

Isaac is his now, and he's not sure he'll ever get enough of this man.

  


Nothing about this is particularly funny, but Felix feels some giggly giddy feeling rise in his chest. He feels like wriggling around until his whole body is absorbed into Sam. Until neither of them can tell where the other ends or begins. He wants it all, everything, right here and now and this is just the _first time._

Will it get any better, any easier to take this feeling?

God, he hopes not. Hopes it feels exactly like this every time.

Felix does take the words given to him to heart, however. Hums in response to the request, before slowly taking the hand from Sam's hair. Gives it one last little pet before moving down to the hand that is currently wrapped around his cock.

Doesn't hesitate to take Sam's hand in his own, adjust it ever so slightly. His head is more sensitive, right on the underside, this way Sam's fingers will press right against that spot with each upturn and down stroke.

"Just like this."

He ushers Sam's hand in that slow, indulgent pace still, but exactly where it'll hit Felix in all the best spots. Groans as he twitches between their combined fingers and his hips give another flex, thighs clutching the cock pressed against them.

  


He doesn't pout when Isaac's hand leaves his hair, absolutely not. That isn't something Locus _does_ , thank you very much.

But even if he did happen to accidentally do something so asinine and arbitrary, the tucked away expression would be wiped clean off his face when a hand folds over his own and guides his fingers into a slightly different position, a better hold.

Warmth blossoms in his chest. Locus nods, face drawing back from its safe place tucked away into Isaac's shoulder just so he can peer down at where they come together, for a better look at how to please his partner.

They look so pretty together. Dark and light skin, a smaller, more dexterous hand guiding longer fingers, a wider palm.

Isaac moves, his cock reacting immediately to the change in position. Releases a pretty noise from his mouth. Locus pours all of his attention into getting the motion right—fingers brush softly just beneath the sensitive head with every upstroke.

Once he feels he has the rhythm down, other sensory experiences trickle back in. The heat that built to a boiling point at the base of his spine rises steadily once again. It doesn't take much for him to be on the precipice, peering over the edge.

"Better?" he asks softly.

  


Even though he can't see Sam behind him, Felix can feel the weight of the full force of Sam's awareness. Can feel the way he's paying such close attention to the way Felix moves them, how he commits the feeling to memory just to get it absolutely correct.

It's endearing, the fact that this man wants to please him so fully. Makes Felix feel godly in that way, again. Like he's done something unmistakably right by giving Sam this.

Better than anything money could buy.

Felix allows the feeling to settle down to his bones, each and every little thing that trickles into his consciousness. How perfect this is, how Sam feels pressed up against him, his hands, his cock, the rumble of his voice.

"Yeah, so good, Sam."

Nothing but a whisper in response. Felix's body moves on its own, seeking pleasure, that building pressure.

It'll crest soon.

He thrusts back against Sam, body curling in a wave against the larger man as Felix loses himself in it.

  


Despite everything that's happened tonight— no.

Because of everything that's happened tonight— not quite.

Something, _something_ presses itself to a deeper instinct in Locus. More feral than the will to survive, more chaotic than the lust that's wrapped him up like low clouds cradled between mountain peaks.

He's thought the name so very many times now— _Isaac_. This connection between them seeps into his subconscious mind and had altered even the language Locus is used to referencing when thinking about his partner.

It takes a whisper, and nothing more, for the realization to click.

He isn't Locus here. And Isaac isn't _Felix_ here. They are two men—Isaac and _Sam_ —and they are naked in ways that reach beyond physical.

Sam takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. He rolls inward, melting into the touch, the points that they connect. Allows himself to sink into the swell and finds no need to worry about breaching for air.

Because Isaac is with him, and that's all that matters.

With a low groan, Sam thrusts between his partner's legs one last time, and holds the position. His cock twitches, then releases. Warm ropes of come coat the inside of Isaac's thighs, his balls, Sam's slit opening up to pulse sweet drops against both their hands with every downward stroke.

Tilting his face close, Sam parts his lips and gets blunt teeth around the meat of Isaac's shoulder as he comes. Bites down, nothing incredibly harsh, but clearly hard enough to leave a lasting mark.

His hand never stops. Sets the pace Isaac had given him, only now it's a bit slicker, his own warm come making the glide just that much easier.

  


Like a physical weight lifted, Felix can feel the moment Sam lets himself go. Doesn't know what it is about the change in the atmosphere but he hadn't realized it was so charged until the lightning cracks and Sam relaxes completely against him.

Doesn't cease his movement, but allows himself to _let go_ and absorb himself into this moment.

Felix feels that giddy sense in his gut again, but it bubbles up into something sweeter, something cradled at the base of his spine where it breathes and grows with every thrust of Sam's cock between his legs, Sam's hand at his own cock.

It's a brilliant feeling to let every thought flutter from his mind but _Sam, Sam, Sam_ it's all he needs to think anymore, all he needs to know and feel and want.

Felix finds this much easier to embrace than it really should be, but can't find himself caring much at all. Especially when the man in question lets out a deep, rumbling moan only to thrust one last time between Felix's thighs.

He can feel the way Sam's cock expands and releases before the feeling of warm, wet come jolts over his legs, his sensitive balls, high enough to slick between his and Sam's fingers at Felix's cock. He isn't sure he's felt anything in his _life_ more sexy, but it isn't enough.

Isn't enough until blunt teeth sink hard into the flesh of Felix's shoulder and then he's _gone._

Manages to cry out this time, startled as he is by the bite and how it takes him straight to 'go'. His voice is low, however, on the edge of a harsh gasp as Felix comes all over the sheets in front of them, spurting one, two thick ropes there before the rest oozes warm over their knuckles.

His body doesn't stop moving for a long, slow moment. Felix wants to extend this feeling for as long as possible, body overwhelmed in the most perfect of ways, as he clings bodily to Sam behind him.

  


It's perfect.

For such a long time, Sam has been trying to understand _who he is_. What makes him a person. What makes him worthy of continuing on in this life.

He still doesn't know the answer to that, not really, but Isaac comes with him with a sharp breath blurting past soft lips, and it feels decidedly like another piece of the puzzle clicks into place.

Sam twitches with the aftershocks of his orgasm. Tingly, electric vibration dances down his spine, through his legs, up into his chest. The feeling only intensifies when Isaac's come oozes down their joined hands.

It takes a long moment for him to realize he still has teeth clamped down on the other man's shoulder. He releases his hold with a foggy head, licking and kissing the bruise that will no doubt form.

So much for keeping the bed clean.

A belated thought while he comes down, muscles completely relaxed. He sinks against Isaac, kisses flowing from shoulder to neck to ear while he grinds himself gently into the mess they've made between the man's thighs.

"Isaac," he says, hushed and pleased. The word escapes him on a sigh, no question behind it.

  


Coming down from this is a process Felix never really imagined he would go through. His mind is nothing but a soft, soothing blanket of fog, no thoughts no sounds no movement around him but _Sam_ and it's perfect.

They move together for a long moment, arching and rolling against one another to drag out the fulfilling sensations curling through their bodies. Isn't until teeth release his shoulder that Felix realizes the ache there.

It's sweet and pointed, gives him a heady little shiver as cool air brushes over the forming bruise. He could definitely do with a few more of those.

Though he doesn't know if it's the pain-pleasure he's always been a fan of seeking out, or the fact that it had been Sam losing that bit of control over himself that really makes Felix feel needy for such a thing.

Either way, he'll have another and another, if he has anything to say about it.

A hum presses from his chest as, eventually, his name is spoken in such a low, pleasant tone. Sam sounds like he'd been just as gone as Felix and there's nothing better. They sigh together, Felix humming in response, understanding the word and how it had been meant without much thought.

Perfect.

Eyes already growing heavy, Felix relaxes against Sam, falls still and quiet as he begins to drift away.


	15. Scene XV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another unrepentantly explicit scene (last one this X-rated), fair warning.
> 
> As the story is starting to wind down, we just want to thank all of you for the comments and memes and kindness you've shown us. It's really kept us going in a tough time. We read every single comment, and even if we don't have the energy to reply right now, we're infinitely grateful for all of you. 🧡💚
> 
> That said, if you're interested in seeing some more Felix/Locus content (or just wanna drop by and say hello), darlin and I have decided to keep our Twitter accounts updated with snippets of some stuff we play around with. You can find us here:
> 
> @yoimwander (Wander)
> 
> @feelickx (darlin)
> 
> —

In the morning, Locus suffers from no night terror freezing him in place, no groggy unspoken fear jittering through his chest, and no question in his mind as to who, exactly, is sleeping in his bed, held up in his arms.

Usually so active the moment he gains consciousness, instead he's plagued with limp muscles and bones that refuse to press into motion.

Sleepily, he nuzzles into short hair, takes a pleasant breath, and plants kisses all along the curve of Isaac's neck, mumbling reassurances that he'll be right back when extracting himself from the other man prompts shuffling and sounds of protest.

Endearing.

Cleaning himself up is the first thing on his agenda. He uses the still slightly damp washcloth from earlier to do this, and mumbles more soft words while he cleans Isaac up all the same.

Second, clothing. Just his sweats, which he slips over his hips before making his way to the kitchen. Only a few short minutes of preparation, and Locus is back in his room, carrying a single plate stacked with a few pieces of buttered toast, and two warm cups of coffee (one mixed with cream and sugar).

He sets everything down on the bedside table, then slides back into the space left for him after he'd gone.

Decides it's a worthy endeavor to kiss every inch of Isaac's skin until the other man decides to wake up.

  


Waking up is unusually difficult this morning and it only takes Felix a moment to realize what's happening when he feels a shift in movement behind him.

_Oh._

Yeah, that's right, this had totally been a thing yesterday and they were _totally_ a thing now, aren't they.

That's about all the brain power he can afford to put into anything as Sam shifts around behind him to get up and clean them off with something cold and damp. Uncomfortable, but there's nothing in Felix that can think to protest.

He actually falls directly back to sleep as soon as the washcloth (he suspects) is gone and Sam leaves the room. There is no promise indicating when he'll be back, so Felix doesn't feel so bad about dozing. He'll get up in a bit, when he has the feeling back in his legs.

Realizes how sore he is as he shuffles around the bed, narrowly avoiding the wet spot, as he settles back down.

Doesn't know how long it is before the scent of warm bread and coffee infiltrate his senses. It's accompanied by sweet, soft lips pressing up and down his spine, shoulders, the back of his neck.

Of course Sam would be schmoopy about this.

Not that Felix is complaining.

He rolls over slowly, doesn't sit up just yet, but just blinks his eyes open to _look_. Soak in this moment because it's happening.

"Mornin'."

  


With movement, Sam accommodates. Shifts enough to allow Isaac the space he needs to rearrange. Left with dark honey brown eyes blinking up at him, a rush of affection surges through Sam's chest, leaving him speechless for a moment while he just cements the look of Isaac below him.

He clears his throat.

"Good morning."

The force of that gaze is enough to press a flush up Sam's neck and over his cheeks. He turns away slightly, wondering if bringing Isaac breakfast is a bit too _much._

They only just discovered this new depth to their relationship yesterday.

He shouldn't push it, right?

"I, ah. Brought you breakfast."

Cuts eyes over to the plate of food, and both steaming cups.

  


First thing he recognizes is that slow, dawdling flush that creeps up over Sam's throat and lingers at his cheeks. It's dusty and pink and actually rather attractive, especially accompanied by that deep voice and the way Sam has to clear his throat.

Felix feels a brow crawl upwards as he continues to watch.

Sam isn't awkward, per say, but he's obviously thinking this over a mile a minute. It's written clear and present right there on his face.

Cute.

It's easy to let him simmer, just for a moment, because Felix can't help the way he likes to watch this man in particular squirm, when he's normally so unflappable.

He did this, _Felix_ has done this.

Heady, powerful, pleasant. A plethora of feelings crop up in his chest, those just to name a few as he follows Sam's gaze to the food and drink he'd brought Felix. In bed.

Sitting up nice and slow, Felix reaches for his cup (cream and sugar) to take a long, indulgent sip. It's perfect, as always.

"Thanks."

There's a quirk to the side of his mouth, pleased, but also maybe letting Sam know that Felix can see right through him and finds this internal struggle infinitely amusing.

  


_Thanks_ , he says, and he knows, and Locus knows he knows, and Locus understands that Isaac, in that coy way of his, _wants_ Locus to know that he knows.

About what?

Unsure.

How fluttery and flustered he feels inside. How he's having sudden thoughts about messing this whole thing up. Coming on too strong. That maybe his soft underbelly isn't anything Isaac particularly wants to see.

But the tease, that Isaac feels amused enough to tease him in the first place, has a peculiar way of calming Locus' nerves and ramping them up to a million all at once.

"You're welcome."

Far too formal. He grabs his own cup of coffee, pressing too-hot liquid down his throat for a too-hot gulp in an attempt to keep himself from saying something stupid.

Like how Isaac looks so handsome with that playful smirk tilting his mouth into a slanted line.

  


Yeah, fuck it, Sam is endearing like this. Fucking adorable and it's giving Felix new life.

The guy speaks nice and even, though it's stilted and formal in a way that actually makes Felix's grin turn into an all out laugh. It's quiet and private between them, but he can't help the way he still feels that bubbly, giddy feeling in the pit of his gut.

"You're an idiot."

It comes out far too fond, indulgent, as Felix takes pity on the man beside him and leans in close. He's still fully naked beneath the thin layer of sheet, but he doesn't try to hide as more of himself is unveiled when he presses against Sam's side.

"You make me food all the time, y'know. No need to get all blushy over it."

Calls Sam out, brow raised, amused smile pulling his lips wide.

God, he feels so fucking good here.

  


Laughed at. Called an idiot.

Locus couldn't be happier.

That confused tension in his chest dissipates immediately. Isaac leans in, makes a fair point, and his weight, heat, that wide smile, knocks the breath out of him for a handful of seconds.

His flush only deepens, called out for odd behavior as he's been, but that doesn't stop him from tucking his face close and nosing along the bruise he'd formed last night with a gentle sweeping pass.

Locus straightens after that, eyes drifting to the bedsheet that slid down Isaac's bare body as he'd moved.

An ache forms in his stomach. Warmth pooling at the base of his spine.

"I am _not_ —" he begins, raising a hand to press fingertips to his cheek.

Feels heat. Clearly flushed. Grey eyes widen minutely in understanding. He drops his hand, blinks owlishly at his partner.

Oh.

  


Tension in the air breaks with the laugh and there's nothing between them but the sheet and the deepening flush at Sam's cheeks.

He looks good like this. Better than good with his bare chest, the way he leans in and presses gently against the bruise he'd left at Felix's shoulder. It twinges, deep as it is, and there's nothing Felix wants more than to press his fingers into it and _remember._

It had been perfect, but it doesn't have to stop there.

Especially not with the way Sam looks at him now.

Felix is starving though, and amused, and wants to savor this cup of coffee and the way his own eyes get some delicious candy.

"Don't worry, it's a good look for you."

There's a flash of teeth in his smile, hungry, but Felix turns away just after to grab a piece of toast to shove into his mouth. It's perfectly toasted, because of course it is. He consumes it nice and slow, infinitely pleased.

  


Exasperated with himself, Locus splays a full hand over his face as Isaac continues to speak, looking for all the world like Locus' harmless pain is the show that accompanies breakfast.

Takes his fill of Sam, even just visually, and something about that makes Sam feel rather pinned to the spot, though not exactly in a bad way.

Makes him feel worthy of being looked _at_ , actually.

With a swallow, he reaches for a piece of toast himself, adjusting on the bed until he's propped up against the wall, sitting comfortably upright with his partner at his side.

"You don't have to flatter me," he replies finally, flustered, though the sensation eases inside him.

"Given what has already transpired."

He doesn't even attempt to arch an eyebrow or act coy. He knows the look won't get across with all those fireflies dancing around in his stomach.

  


"Flattery, I'll have you know," he starts, toast half chewed in his mouth before he realizes that he's talking with his mouth full.

Felix finishes chewing with a put upon face before he begins again.

"Is the highest form of compliment."

Though Felix takes his time to turn on the bed to face Sam as the guy settles back against the wall behind them. Really, he does look _damn good_ right now. Edible in all his dark skinned, toned, flustered glory.

If he hadn't just come twice a handful of hours ago Felix is certain he'd be ready to go again just from the proximity he has to Sam right now.

"But I'm not trying to flatter you."

He takes another bite of toast, once again not bothering to adjust the thin sheet where it's drifted down to _just_ cover his soft cock where it lays between his thighs.

  


He nibbles while Isaac talks, not realizing how hungry he'd been until food passes his lips. Attention still fully focused on the man at his side, however, and the odd way that this _doesn't feel odd._

It probably should, right?

They've always had easy banter, though, and transitioning that into Locus' bedroom doesn't at all feel out of place.

His drifting mind stops quite suddenly, toast finished, coffee cup half-empty and set back on the table, when the sheet falls ever lower, revealing pretty white thighs and that trail of hair that sets Locus' nerve endings on fire.

He ends up staring for longer than necessary. Images of the night before flash readily in front of his eyes—how hot and wet and incredible everything had been. Just imagining it ramps up the ache in his body. Isaac so sweet against him, letting Locus thrust between those legs. Of his _taste._

What would he taste like _there_ , though? Locus has never tried something like that before. The teasing sliver of sheet covering Isaac now only flares up these lingering questions.

"Hm, what?" he asks, realizing he'd drifted. He can't recall what Isaac had been saying.

Stormy eyes flick back upwards to blink in Isaac's face.

  


Watching Sam has definitely become a pastime for Felix in these long (arduous, at times) months that they've been aboard _The Attie_. There isn't much else to do, and no one else to look at, so he's had his fair share of 'person' watching.

And here, it's no different.

Felix munches at his toast, sips slowly at his coffee and simply looks his fill. Watches the way Sam seems to get lost in his own little world, but doesn't overlook the fact that it's _him_ that Sam is looking at.

It's easy to follow that heated, hazy gaze to where the sheet of Sam's bed is just barely covering Felix. He hadn't even realized it in the warmth of the room, distracted by Sam and his gifts of food and drink.

Now? Felix is watching with a different thought in mind, especially when his response in return to what he'd said is incredibly lacking and distracted.

Both brows creep up Felix's forehead.

Okay, that's fucking hot.

He feels a quiver at the base of his spine, amazingly enough, and heat floods his stomach in the blink of an eye.

"I said, I'm not trying to flatter you, Sam."

Speaks low, pointed.

"I know what you'll give me regardless, I have no use for flattery."

  


Caught like a fly in a web. The colloquium whizzes through his brain as soon as he catches sight of those raised brows. When Isaac parts plush lips and speaks, pointed, Locus knows he's already wrapped up and there is no use in struggling—the spider will consume the fly.

It shouldn't take so long for him to process the words enough to make sense of them. But he's _distracted_. Isaac looks so good like this. Relaxed and naked. The morning cycle has already kicked up in the ship, and Locus' room is significantly lighter than it had been the previous night.

With a low ambient glow simulating sunlight creeping through closed curtains, every expression on Isaac's face is perfectly precise, easily noticeable.

_I know what you'll give me regardless._

Locus swallows. His attention drifts back down of its own accord, right where he can just make out the outline of Isaac's resting cock, before he realizes where his eyes have gone again and jerks his gaze back upward.

Locus clears his throat, at least _attempting_ to pay attention.

"And what is that?"

Firm, low.

Yeah, he's caught, but that knowledge doesn't keep him from wiggling around in the web.

  


How had this not been painfully obvious before? Felix can't help but find himself thinking as Sam becomes wildly distracted once again. It doesn't take but a moment as the man's eyes have already wandered down, down, where Felix is just barely covered.

A half full coffee cup is set aside on the bedside table without much thought, but Felix doesn't move forward or away from the other man. Sits, pleased as punch right where he is.

Sam takes his bait easily, readily, doesn't even think before spouting off something coy, even though he so very well knows that _he's_ the one who's been caught here.

Always keeping Felix on his toes, but here it's easy to latch onto his part in this game of cat and mouse. Sam's already been caught after all, but Felix finds pleasure in playing with his food.

"Anything I want."

Cocks his head to the side, expression just daring Sam to say anything to oppose the words spoken as pure fact.

  


The problem is, Locus' overactive mind likes to linger on solvable problems. It focuses rather attentively on things that are beyond the realm of Locus' direct experience, as if crafting scenarios and running through each one enough times will make up for that lack of hands-on touch.

Right now, all Locus can think about is getting his mouth around Isaac. Wonders how long it would take to suck him from soft to hard. Imagines that it will taste like skin and salt. It must be rather pleasant, too, to have something so silky pressed between his lips. It isn't like he has any cigarettes to satisfy that oral fixation of his, but maybe learning to take Isaac in inch-by-inch could sate that need. He'll require practice to get better at it, too, because Isaac himself had been so _good_ last night, and Locus isn't willing to allow his skills to pale in comparison.

He blinks again, very close to asking another "what?" but he keeps from it, instead tracking back succinct words until they process in his head.

Isaac knows. Of course he does. Locus can't help but let his thoughts bleed loudly into the air.

"What is it you want, then?"

His stomach is almost too fluttery to keep up this charade. Voice rough, a hungry look in his eye.

  


Well now that's the question of the day, isn't it?

Felix, himself, is rather satisfied with everything. Doesn't feel that too hot, too needy, too wanting feeling that had pressed him into Sam's arms last night. They hadn't gone too quick, not in his opinion, but it went from a kiss to Sam's cock in his mouth and that was more than satisfying.

And now he's had a perfect cup of coffee and slice of toast, brought to his bed by Sam who's been nothing but an adorable flustered mess ever since.

Felix is content, but Sam?

Certainly looks like he has something on his mind.

"For you to take what _you_ want."

He settles on, easily, simply. Doesn't know what Sam's thinking, but understands that it has nothing but good things written in it for him, and maybe indulging Sam might be a thing for him just the same.

So he shrugs, leans back on his hands, body splayed out wide for Sam's viewing pleasure to let the man ruminate on that for a moment.

  


And ruminate he does.

Locus knows they've evolved during their months confined on this ship. They've grown as individuals, as people, but as partners too. Yet still it surprises him (and perhaps more than that, _turns him on_ ) when Isaac offers himself on a silver platter, so to speak.

Yes, he's been caught, but maybe that doesn't have to be a bad thing.

For a long moment, Locus turns the brunt of his attention on the expression crossing Isaac's face. A relaxed neutral, controlled, like it really doesn't matter to him what Locus wants to do. He'll allow it, either way.

Why is that so appealing?

"Alright," Locus says. Squeezes the word out, really, because his voice has turned to gravel at this point and his gaze has drifted back down, where the head of Isaac's soft cock _just_ peeks out from beneath the sheet.

It's such a pretty color, pale yet flushed on the end, and Locus is both curious and ravenous to sate that curiosity.

With all food and drinks pushed away from the immediate vicinity, Locus is free to let his hands roam. He does so, curling dark fingers against a white sheet and sliding it down bit by bit until Isaac is fully revealed to his hungry gaze.

"I want to suck on you."

There. Blunt. Precise. Intentions made known.

Even if admitting it causes the slowly dissipating flush on his cheeks to flare up again.

  


Not ... entirely what he was expecting.

Felix isn't the type to blush, but the heat that boils in his stomach at Sam's words has splotchy red painting over his chest and throat in his blood’s sudden descent _lower._

It's exhilarating in a way Felix doesn't know if he's felt before, the way Sam looks at him, speaks clear and blunt what he wants all the while tugging away the sheet covering the subject of his desire.

Nudity hasn't ever been something that's intimidated Felix, he knows what he looks like and understands that it's prime physical condition. He's unashamed, certainly, but he feels very much so like he's about to be devoured with the intensity of Sam's gaze.

And it does _everything_ for him.

Felix's cock lies soft and exposed between them, though the longer Sam watches him, the more blood circulates nice and low.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

  


Permission is what he has been waiting for, thank you very much. Locus knows they're both agreeable in these things, but it's all still so new, and he's more than willing to take his time if just to ensure Isaac wants what he wants, too.

The wait is worth it. Isaac's skin reddens in interesting places that Locus zeroes in on immediately, curious as to what had brought on this shift in temperature.

He'll figure that out later.

Now, he has something else to learn.

Slowly, he readjusts. Shifts closer to press a hot kiss to the bruise he'd left before sliding his mouth lower, against side, stomach, jutting pelvic bone.

_What are you waiting for._

The words echo in his head, causing a shudder to tremble down his spine. How can one man be so decidedly sexy? It's improbable.

When he settles comfortably between Isaac's legs, a blisteringly pleasant white noise crackles through his brain. Isaac's cock rests against a fit stomach. Still soft, but oh-so appealing. Locus takes a deep breath, head going hazy at the way he's completely surrounded by his partner's scent.

Both hands curl beneath the other man's legs, palms resting easily on both outer thighs. Ready to spread Isaac open even wider, though he's fine with this for now.

"Isaac?"

He pauses before leaning in, before making any sort of contact.

  


More than he could ever ask for, that's exactly what Sam is right now. Nothing has ever felt this safe and easy before. Like anything and everything can just happen without Felix having to look over his shoulder, check the time, leave before anyone wakes up to think this is something more than it is.

Because this is _everything_ and Sam makes Felix feel it.

Especially when he uses that name, over and over, cementing the fact that Felix is maybe sort of becoming that person again. Someone with a name and feeling and a soul.

Felix bites his tongue against that thought, focuses on the way Sam's touch feels, the phantom touch of kisses over that bruise, his chest and stomach, and the breath puffing hot and damp over his hardening cock.

He's questioned, Sam has paused right before reaching critical mass and Felix shudders at the anticipation.

"Mm?"

An answer, eyes laser focused on the man between his legs, pupils dilated, chest an uneven red, body beginning to react to this heady position.

  


Grey flicks a hazy focus upwards. In this light, Locus can see everything. And he likes it. Every curve, line. The cock that overshadows most of his vision already while he peers up the length of Isaac's body.

Fingers clench, making small indents in light skin.

He wants to please Isaac. Doesn't care what he tastes like, what it feels like. He wants Isaac to say his name like that again.

"Talk to me?"

It's meant to come out as a statement, but question remains in his tone.

With that, Locus flicks his attention back down. Peers at the plump head of Isaac's cock and can see the reddened stomach just beyond. So endearing, that shade. Maybe that's what his partner finds appealing when Locus gets this heated?

Lids drooping to little grey slits, Locus leans forward and presses slightly parted lips right on the end of Isaac. Rests there. His warm breath pants across skin while he processes the fleshy taste, not at all unpleasant. He can feel a dip just at his lower lip—the little slit practically quivering against his mouth.

  


_"Talk to me?"_

Words rattle around in his skull like rocks in an aluminum can, cacophonous and sharp. Felix is left blinking with wide, dark eyes as the words sink in, nice and slow, vibrating through his ear drums and continuing on their path straight down to the base of his spine.

Red at his chest and stomach extend across ribs and perk up the round little nipples at his chest. Whereas just a moment before Felix was feeling rather relaxed in this moment, pleased and reactionary, but seemingly nonchalant -- now he has awoken. Feels himself shudder with pleasure at Sam's words alone, even as his cock jumps at the simple touch it receives.

It hardens right up against Sam's lips as he gives it that chaste, open mouthed kiss, and Felix is left with his own lips parted around an aching release of breath.

Two orgasms last night and he suddenly feels as if they'd never happened at all, feels increasingly pent up all over again. Needy and wanting, on the verge of pleading for that sweet, warm mouth to encapsulate him whole.

"Christ, Sam."

Is all he's able to pant out for the moment, unable to keep enough air in his lungs to say much else. And really, when it boils down to it, Felix isn't quite as vocal in bed as he is in many other (any other) situations. He's receptive, reactant, but not overtly so.

Here, thoughts of such a thing fly right out the window. If Sam wants him to jump, he can only think to ask how high and trust that the other man will be there to catch him on the way back down. That's how it is now, how it's always been even. Him and Sam, Felix and Locus, the names don't matter. It's _them._

"Yeah, I'll talk for you."

Gives concrete acceptance, unwilling to let this man flounder in his needs in this moment, and in all others to come.

  


_For you._

A simple enough distinction, but one not lost on him. Locus hums pleasantly, eyes no more than soft slate curves set upon his face.

Isaac is handsome. Every part of him. From flushed chest to hard pink nubs straining for contact (something he will certainly explore, soon). Even his cock, thickening up nicely against his mouth, arches in such a lovely way.

With a pleased sigh, Locus parts his lips and tests a more full taste with one soft kitten lick. Salt. Flesh. This is Isaac. And every last part of this man is **his.**

To press forward is not a difficult task. Locus has never paid much attention to the things that move him, if but for the simple fact that not much does. In the last decade, he doesn't recall looking at a body and wanting it.

Looking at Isaac now, there comes no end to his wants. Whether it be like this, in his bed, with flushed need quivering on the end of his mouth; or while they train, that thrilling sensation when a difficult grapple _takes_ and Isaac pins him down sturdily; or in the kitchen, Locus staring at available ingredients for half an hour or more simply digesting the information available to him in an effort to come up with something his partner will particularly enjoy.

No, there is no end to what Locus wants from this man.

He leans in, in. Fingers pet over tender thighs (the same ones he'd come between last night, a sense memory that makes him shudder). Locus envelops the head of Isaac's cock and attempts a quiet suction. Exploratory. Indulgent.

  


Vibrations from that deep voice, some pleased little hum, drag down the length of him, something gentle and invigorating that quivers through Felix's body. Lights up right behind his eyes and Felix has to look away for a moment. Needs to catch his suddenly labored breath.

A tongue flicks out over the tip of him, the warmth of it a soothing balm for how rubbed raw he feels with sudden and incomprehensible want. Felix has never felt such a thing, how it can blanket him so softly.

There is no rush to this, Sam is taking his sweet time exploring, and that makes it _more_. Though more of what, Felix wouldn't be able to put a word to it, can't name the feeling in his chest as he's pet, fingers over his quivering thighs. Cared for, maybe. Like Sam wants to understand every inch of Felix and claim it as his own.

Be the best Isaac's ever had.

The thought curls around him sweetly, just as Sam's mouth envelops the whole head of his cock and _sucks._

"That's right."

Doesn't forget his promise, no matter that his mouth wants to clamp shut, teeth clenched over the onslaught of easy pleasure.

"Your mouth feels so good."

Can't imagine what he's going to say before he lets it loose from his lips. Opens them and just lets whatever out that wants to come out, can't believe that Sam will have any problem with the words spilling like a heady torrent over him.

  


Of the few times Isaac has praised him in the past, those blips on an otherwise empty radar pale in comparison to the words spoken now.

In that breathy tone, perfect soothing tenor, _that's right_ , jolting a painful shock up Locus' ribcage, so good dousing ice against the burn, until Locus is little more than a nerve ending rubbed raw.

God, Isaac is so _attractive._

The thought burns Locus up. Makes him flush from head to toe, a soft groan pulled from his chest, reverberating through his vocal cords. It pushes his tongue into motion. Head dips down slowly, getting used to the foreign feeling, taking Isaac in more and more until the man rests a few inches in and Locus' tongue curls delicately along the underside, caressing him.

The funny thing is, Locus hasn't really been attracted to anyone in a very long time. Not since Camile. It was as if a vital part of him had been ripped out and stepped on. Trampled into the earth until it was unrecognizable.

He can remember the last time he looked at someone and wanted to explore every part of them with tongue and teeth and lips. It had been before his scar.

But now? Isaac has awoken something within him.

Locus is ravenous for more.

His fingers curl and straighten out against soft thighs, affected by the words spoken above. Fingers reach upward, stroke low on Isaac's stomach, then back down again, curious to know what every inch of this man feels like.

  


It's been, well, a long damn time since Felix has been in this particular position. He and Sam had started something last night, something heady and sweet that was certain to dip into this, but Felix hadn't expected it to come so soon, or to feel so _good_.

Sam is quiet below him, focused on his task in a way that Felix has seen time and time again from this man, but has rarely been on the opposite end of. In this it feels so much more, just as he'd thought before, but it takes him away. Up and out of his head with pleasure to look down and see one of the most powerful men he's ever known with Felix's cock in his mouth.

God, he looks fucking good though. The way his hair is growing out, slowly and surely, to cover his forehead in dark wisps, how Sam's dark skin is a major contrast to Felix's own pale complexion. His lips are rosy, along with his cheeks and neck, flushed with pleasure like he's the one being touched instead of the other way around.

Felix could watch this all day, might end up doing just that considering how they'd just gotten it up last night. He's overfull with feeling, but not at all close to an end.

Decides to share that little tidbit of information as Sam takes him down even further, works that clever tongue up and down the length of Felix like he was made to do this. Takes to it like a natural, really, and Felix couldn't be more pleased.

"You should see how fucking good you look stuck on the end of me, Sam."

A hand comes down to brush dark hair from Sam's eyes, though Felix doesn't remove it once he does so. Keeps a steady grip atop Sam's head, not pressing or pulling, simply resting just there to feel.

"Could watch you all day."

Spoken on the edge of a moan as Felix oozes a drop of slick right against the hard palate of Sam's mouth. Makes him wonder what the guy would look like if Felix released right against those pretty dark cheeks.

  


Nothing about this should feel this _good._ Locus sinks into the taste, the texture, until the only thing filling his rather overactive mind is _Isaac_. Above him, inside him. Pretty words spoken so darkly.

A hand curls in his hair, a particularly sensitive spot, and Locus pauses when fingers brush along his forehead, petting him as if in wordless praise.

He could get lost in this. In how one glance up reveals Isaac's attention _riveted_.

And yes, Locus knows he had asked for it, but he still finds himself wholly unprepared for the way Isaac speaks. _All day._ Christ. That hits a note, a singing vibration curling through his organs just to shake them, and Locus hums an affirmative, lids falling closed again while those fingers rest lightly atop his head. He licks at the perfect drop given to him, still getting used to the taste, though it isn't bad, really.

Isaac has been eating healthy, after all.

With purpose, Locus opens up just that much more, taking Isaac down until he can feel the slick head oozing right at the entrance to his throat. It's a bit much, something he'll have to get used to, but for now Locus slides one hand down to curl around the parts of Isaac he can't quite fit just yet.

Starts up a lazy rhythm, fingers firm and tight, cheeks hollowing the slightest bit while he sucks.

_Sam._

The name bounces around his head. Isaac makes him feel like a person again. Someone worthy of giving pleasure, and receiving it in return.

  


Sam had asked for him to speak, yes, but Felix isn't quite expecting how spurred on the man seems to be by a few simple words as they flow from Felix's lips just on this side of unthinkingly. It's a pleasure to watch, however, and Felix feels nothing short of rapt as he stares down between his own legs.

It's as if Sam loses himself in this, takes one glance up at Felix, giving a perfect view of blown out pupils surrounded by pretty grey rings, before his head tucks right back into his task. Sam is left humming, sounding rather pleased with the idea of this being their activity for the day, and that, more than anything, sends a quiver right up Felix's spine.

Wouldn't that be something, though?

Felix takes the time to conjure up a daydream of it, them lounging just here, Sam tending to him for the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon. They could take a lunch break, Felix taking on the job of making some light food, his specialty of grilled cheese and tomato soup maybe, before having Sam back on his knees like he'd never left.

"Fuck."

The word presses from his lips with a heavy exhale, though if it's from his own little daydream or the fact that Sam manages to take even more of him down, Felix isn't certain. Finds himself lost with it though, the way Sam opens around him until Felix feels the tight circle of the other man's throat give the head of his cock a pleasing kiss.

It doesn't last, but it's more than enough for now. They'll work up to it.

Not that Sam doesn't make up for it with introducing a broad hand into the mix. Felix feels it wrap around the base of him and start up a slow stroke as Sam begins to suck the life from him.

"God, _yeah_."

Felix throws his head back, eyes shutting, stomach muscles contracting and relaxing with every other suckle at the end of him. Feels his hand clench in Sam's hair lightly, a spasm of motion, as he resists the urge to thrust up into the hot, wet hole surrounding him.

  


Perfect. Everything is so perfect, the way Isaac sounds, how the muscle of his thigh twitches beneath Locus' unoccupied hand. It's never been his M.O. to give pleasure (at least, not for the last decade and more), but here he's a changed man, so maybe it _could_ be.

Imagines it. The idea of purpose. How miniscule it had seemed their first few months on this ship—how pointless. But slowly things had altered, until small moments became the things Locus lived for. Checking the Nav system. Cooking food for the both of them. A strict training regimen. Playing that ridiculous old video game and taking on the mantle of "treasure finder" during hours spent on completionist runs.

Maybe this can be Locus' purpose, too. Pleasing Isaac. Taking care of his needs, be it working out violent energy in a training session, or opening wide to let Isaac settle his needy cock in Locus' warm, eager mouth.

Among other places.

Eyes still shut, Locus groans at the thought. This insistent idea that he could be Isaac's _everything._ That's all they have now, after all.

Maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

Slowly, he tightens his grip until it's an achingly steady pull. Enjoys the way Isaac feels in the palm of his hand, how he pulses sweetly in his mouth, the mindless words pulled from plush lips.

After a long moment, Locus pulls away to suck in a much-needed breath. Pants headily against the gleaming wet tip of Isaac's cock, eyes little grey slits that peer up the long length of his partner's body while he fills his lungs.

"However you want it," he says, voice shamelessly fucked out.

"That's how I'll do it."

In his mouth, on his face, in _other places_ they haven't really discussed yet. It doesn't matter. Locus trusts this man implicitly.

He watches Isaac for direction, though he doesn't stop the steady pull of his hand.

  


For as lost as he'd seen Sam moments before, Felix feels just as gone now. Can't imagine a thought in his head other than ones of the man between his thighs, only _Sam, Sam, Sam,_ like some heady mantra. One he believes will save him from this slow and worthless death aboard a dying ship.

It has so far, actually. Sam has been the only saving grace of these last few months, no matter that the start was rather rocky. They'd relearned each other, grew to adapt as they always had, as a team.

Partners.

Taking this all to the next level wasn't exactly as hard as Felix had thought it might be.

And really fucking worth it if this is the reward. Touch and being able to touch in return. The taste of Sam still lingers on the back of Felix's tongue from the night before, and after this he knows he'll be starving for another bite. Knows from the way Sam moans under him that the guy will most certainly be up for it, as well.

That aching moan is mimicked in Felix, Sam's hand tightening around him into something more firm and steady. His breath hiccups in his chest, mouth open to take in heaving breaths, though he's distracted from his own pleasure as Sam pulls away.

Nothing alarming, but Felix does glance down just to make certain. Watches as Sam pants against him, cock twitching at warm breaths over his spit slicked head. Doesn't realize he's watching with his mouth open, something deep and dark in his expression, until Sam speaks and it's enough to have Felix snapping his mouth shut with a click.

Fuck, he sounds so good like that. It's startling enough for Felix to miss the words entirely for a moment, but they swoosh in between his ears loud as he plays them back.

"However I --"

Cuts himself off with another helpless groan, hips twitching up now that the risk of choking Sam has been pressed aside for the moment. He doesn't have to think about what he wants (for this time), not even for a second.

" _Fuck_ , Sam. On your face, want to see you."

_Claimed as mine_. He doesn't have the balls to say, not yet.

  


His face.

Heat burns just behind grey irises, as miniscule the sliver is, so overtaken by dark pupils. The way Isaac ruts upward sliding his needy cock against Locus' cheek doesn't help matters.

_"Yes."_

It's a mark of ownership, pure and simple. Locus has done it before, felt powerful and weak all in the same instance, looking down at his fiancee and seeing the evidence of his need making fine streaks across a pretty face.

Isaac wants to do that to _him._

This new goal gives him purpose. Locus releases Isaac for a moment. Just long enough to readjust and settle to his knees on the floor. Long enough to wrap broad palms around the man's hips. Enough to drag Isaac, with one easy movement, to the foot of the bed.

He grips the other man's cock, giving him the same firm hold, the same steady up-and-down motion.

Locus looks up, then. No smile. No lost, dopey look on his face. Stares at Isaac with dark eyes, pupils wide and eating up colorless grey, with an unwavering focus.

"Yes, Isaac."

_Claim me._

  


_Yes._

Funny how one small word could blow a hole straight through Felix's gut with such little remorse. He inhales, short and sharp, the answer from Sam exactly what he'd wanted to hear, yes, but he obviously wasn't quite ready for the affirmation. Felix feels a jolt down his spine with it.

With the way Sam _looks at him._

It's heavy and heady, for all of a moment, but that sticks with Felix. Knocks him a little dumb in the head, enough so that he doesn't even think to fight Sam as the man shifts their position. A noise does escape him, however, as Felix is bodily pulled down the bed to better suit Sam's place on the floor.

Manhandling hasn't ever been something he's into, though the trust Felix has in this man kind of trumps any and all preconceived notions on what Felix is and isn't into.

So fuck it, that's fucking hot.

Not so much so that Felix isn't immediately blindsided by that look again. Nothing smiling or dreamy about it anymore, just dark and deep with that unerring focus that Sam gives things he believes are deserving.

Maybe Felix doesn't have to spell it out after all. Doesn't need to have the guts when Sam can read him like an open book, because yeah, he looks like he knows exactly what Felix is thinking. More so, looks like he _wants it_ all the same.

A moan presses from his chest as Felix nods, doesn't trust his voice in the moment. Licks his lips all the same, eyes slowly trailing from Sam's gaze down to that red, slick mouth. Jolts forward before he knows what he's doing, wanting a taste of himself upon Sam's lips. Flicks his tongue out with a shaky, punched out noise, as he does so.

  


Even with no words poured between them (an interesting tick that Locus had certainly noticed last night), there is still more than enough to read.

The groan. The way a pretty pink tongue dips out to wet soft lips. The texture of those lips when they press suddenly to his own, an accompanying noise that sounds blasted open, like Isaac can't contain the sound within his chest.

To have waylaid such a dangerous man with nothing but his mouth and hands _does it_ for Locus.

He groans right back, opening easily to an exploratory tongue. Eyes fall shut, then, if but to better process the sensory experience. The way Isaac still tastes like coffee (inundated with sugar and cream). The feel of firm silky heat still in hand (because no, Locus isn't letting go now that he's got Isaac exactly where he wants him).

A pressurized flame roars in his gut. That white noise that at times overwhelms his brain simmers down to a singular point of focus.

Isaac.

Felix.

The only person who matters anymore.

Maybe the only person who has _ever_ mattered. 

Locus pants headily into the kiss. Presses his own tongue in a perfect back and forth, first retreating to entice Isaac into the warm cavern of his own mouth, then pushing forward to explore teeth and sweet coffee and heat.

  


This may possibly be the easiest thing Felix has ever done.

Not the sex, of course that was easy, being a hedonist was one of Felix's greatest talents after all, but this wasn't just that. Wasn't just two people coming together in a bout of lust, nor was it emotionless or anonymous.

It was Sam and Isaac. Locus and Felix. It was a culmination of years upon years of partnership and trust, highs and crippling lows that only pushed them together tighter until this moment. Until they were no longer separate beings, but something so interwoven and connected they ceased to exist individually.

Something Felix had never known he'd wanted until this exact moment.

Sam presses into him just as readily as Felix had swooped down for the kiss. Opens beautifully on the edge of a moan and gives just as good as he gets. Plays cat and mouse with lips and tongue, enticing Felix with taste and touch until every stitch of air is pressed from his lungs and Felix is forced to retreat.

He does so as gracefully as he can manage, panting, clutching Sam's face with both hands though he has no recollection of placing them there. Finds one hand thrust back into soft, dark strands of hair while the other presses back behind himself once again. He leans upon it, body open and on display for the man on his knees for him.

Doesn't press or pull or ask for anything in particular, still more than willing to take this at Sam's pace.

  


It isn't until Isaac pulls away that Locus realizes breathing is, you know, _a thing_. They break apart and he ends up panting, little sips of air pulled into his lungs. Can't help but flick his tongue out one last time to savor the taste on his lips.

It's with this wordless retreat that Locus is given the time to look upon the man giving every part of himself to him. Just as he's doing in return.

Thin, certainly thinner than before their time on _The Attie_ , but not unwell. Isaac has a lithe frame, lean muscles on his arms—one stretched behind him, the other delving into Locus' medium-length hair, resting as a solid weight, more grounding than anything else.

A pathetic sigh punches from Locus' throat. His eyes go half-lidded while he works to burn the image before him into his mind.

He's never going to forget this moment.

Isaac, naked and wanting. His pale skin littered with even paler scars. One over his upper thighs, a pair of thin lines low on his stomach. Two old bullet wounds that had grazed his side (back when they were in the same platoon in the UNSC). A larger one starts at his naval and tucks itself around his left side—one of their first jobs as bounty hunters, not long after teaming up with Mason.

Locus reaches for that one. Presses his thumb at the start of it, the little raised bump just below Isaac's ribs. He glides his finger across it, down to a quivering stomach, and once Locus reaches the end of the line, his hand continues downward, petting over neatly trimmed pubic hair.

Reverent.

Locus hasn't been there for every scar. But he's been there for most. And he's here now.

"We're doing this every day."

Spoken with finality.

He flicks his gaze up to watch Isaac's expression when he leans in, lips parted, and presses the head of his partner's cock back into the welcoming heat of an oh-so-willing mouth.

  


Moments tick by in which a silence settles down upon them, broken only by their respective panting, trying to reinflate tired lungs. In that time Felix is left staring straight at the object of his greatest desires. A heavy way to coat it, but the pill is a smooth one to swallow.

Sam, Locus, has been his everything for years. It feels only right to have come this far, for him to desire Sam in every way he could possibly be had. The thought is no longer debilitating or off putting. Felix feels at home in the fact, just as much so as he does in Sam's hands right now.

Hands that cradle him, move over his thin, scarred body with such an impossible reverence it's almost _too much_. The kind of pressure that Felix doesn't understand how he can live up to it, but is more than pleased with himself for doing so. For making Sam have that expression on his face.

Handsome, sexy, the words seal that particular deal as if Felix hadn't been thinking of those things in regards to Sam for weeks now.

_Doing this every day._

"Fuck yeah we are."

Words spoken breathless. Sam keeps eye contact as he slowly leans right back down to envelop the head of Felix's cock into his mouth once again. It's just as amazing as the first time, maybe a little better, actually, with the way Felix can keep Sam's gaze through it.

"God your mouth is perfection."

Long slender fingers card through Sam's hair, short fingernails giving a heady scratch in return for the blazing hot hole Sam is so willingly giving to Felix.

  


As intense he knows his focus can be, Isaac never bends beneath it. Never has, and Locus is certain never will.

That's what makes this all so much better. They're equals. Fairly matched in any fight. In tune with the other's needs. On the battlefield, their partnership had come easily. They could weave around each other like dancers in a ballet. All this time trapped together in one cramped ship has only heightened the connection, making these newfound domestic parts of their lives as intertwined as anything else.

And now?

Locus hums an appreciative sound, eyes falling half lidded and hazy all over again when fingers curl in his hair and give a pleasant scratch. His toes curl. The combination of this thoughtless care, the _look_ of Isaac above him, and the weight of a needy cock spilling slick along his tongue, is enough to make Locus give a full body shiver.

He licks his tongue around the head of Isaac. Presses around the slit for a more intimate taste, finding that every drop of precome given to him only increases his desire for more.

His hand continues its leisurely rhythm. Locus feels he could sit here all day, Isaac panting above him, trying his best to maintain control and keep from fucking shamelessly into the hot wet hole offered up.

That wouldn't be a bad way to spend their last few years. Giving pleasure until their bodies give up.

Locus groans at the thought, the sweet words spoken to him— _perfection_. A dangerous thing to say to a perfectionist.

It only drives Locus to want to hear it more and more.

  


As slow as this burn is meant to be, there's something in the intimacy of Sam's touch, his gaze, that is pressing every button Felix didn't know he had. Every second passes by thick and slow, like honey dripping from the comb, sweet as that too with the way Sam holds his look, so hazy and content it seems, just to hold Felix within the warmth of his mouth for an indeterminable amount of time.

All day.

Fuck, Felix wishes he could last that long. They'd gone their rounds the night before, but he's still needy for it, and grows ever more so with each pass of that clever tongue across the slit of him. Can feel the way his cock pulses out more clear slick right across Sam's tastebuds as a broad, warm hand strokes him from root to where they come together at Felix's tip.

Perfection, even just this, nothing too much or too little. Just the way Sam moans around him, hums and quivers, like he's the one laying here being pleasured. It hits him more than it should, more than anything so simple ever has.

"You're so _good_ , I'm already --"

Felix cuts himself off, head thrown back and eyes clenched shut, with a heady groan, something high and reedy that he'd never call a whine, but it's a close thing. His own fingers card gently through Sam's hair, encouraging without pushing.

  


_God_ , that he could please Isaac in such a way. He hadn't known, wasn't sure if his efforts would be met positively. Has up to this point moved on instinct, what he's always known to feel good, what he'd like to simply give to Isaac.

With slit eyes, Locus watches as Isaac reveals a pretty jugular. Vulnerable skin smattered with a hint of scruff. It wouldn't take much force to crush his windpipe. He's certain Isaac knows this.

And yet, despite this knowledge, his partner melts into Locus' touch, his mouth. Says, _I'm already_ —

With a groan, Locus tightens his grip. Strokes his tongue in nice even lines against the parts of Isaac he can fit in his mouth.

Craves it.

The sensation. The feeling of Isaac coming in his hand, over his face. Muscles tense. The shake of his bones. How he'll relax, give Locus every part of himself.

_Yes._

Expresses his desire in the intensity of his look. Grey eyes peer upward. Waiting. Wanting.

  


_"Yeah,"_ Felix starts and stops, feeling the sweetest clench of Sam's hand around him. It hadn't been teasing before, but it feels more pointed now, no longer experimental but purposeful. Sam's milking him for all he's worth, fingers gripping tight, tongue roving over the length of him in perfect time.

"That's it, baby, c'mon."

All brain to mouth filter has completely flown out the window. Felix doesn't know what he's saying, what he's feeling besides the pleasure that Sam is hell bent upon sucking from his very soul. For as normal as it is for Felix to go quiet in these situations, with the request from Sam to speak it's all he can do.

Doesn't even think twice about the endearment, something he's said before in passing, most people finding affection in such a term. Knows it's meant, here and now, even if he doesn't necessarily mean to say it.

Not that it matters much, considering the fact that he can't take it back, doesn't even think to as his head is enveloped in some warm, soft cotton. He's getting close, legs beginning to twitch in time with each upstroke of Sam's tongue, stomach muscles jumping, hands clenching.

It's never been this good, and now that Felix has tasted such perfection, it's going to be a need. An addiction.

  


The endearment hits him harder than it should. Oh, Isaac has called him many things over the years, some more pointed than the next, but recently it's been a steady march of soft terms. Big guy. Loc. _Baby._

Heat pours into his chest and Sam clenches his eyes shut to better feel it pass through his body. Warm and liquid, it blankets him in a perfect thoughtlessness where nothing matters but Isaac in him, around him.

Blinking a hazy gaze back open, Locus stares up the long length of his partner's slim body. His hand tightens, a purposeful motion meant to draw pleasure in steady waves.

Just like last night, nothing about this feels wrong.

It's just him, his partner, existing in a perfect stasis where nothing matters but the way they interact, what they can do for each other.

And, oh, the things Locus would like to do for Isaac.

Lids drooping, he quickens his pace minutely, humming softly at the way pale legs shake around him, how lovely Isaac looks torn to his base parts like this—by _his_ hand.

  


And just like that there's a cresting feeling right at the pit of his gut, the base of his spine. Felix had seen it coming, but from a yawning distance, hadn't realized one simple motion could push him over the edge so succinctly. It's like Sam knows his body better than Felix even does.

It's that thought that lends to the pressure coming to fruition in his chest, his balls as they tighten, expelling the seed from within them.

There's no time to give much of a warning, Felix opens his mouth only to get stuck on Sam's name, which he all but whispers through the gravel in his throat.

Can't take the time to put anything into motion as his body seizes up, stomach muscles rippling, legs tensing. Trusts Sam to do as he wishes, to take what he wants from this moment.

Trusts Sam with anything and everything, and it's for that reason that Felix relaxes immediately afterward, body falling back onto the mattress below him. Fingers never stop clutching and petting through the other man's hair, softly.

  


To call this an experience would be an understatement. Locus has been partners with Felix for most of his life, at this point. Over a decade. He's shed blood with the man. Survived war. Killed hundreds.

Now, he takes Isaac's pleasure into the welcoming heat of his mouth, swallowing as he goes, while Isaac dances on a precipice. Wants the other man to mark him in an intimate way, however, and zeroes every ounce of focus on timing it right.

So Locus swallows, again and again, his hand a steady presence until Isaac tenses up beneath him.

He pulls away, eyes fluttering closed while stripes of warm come bathe his face. Over his cheeks, across his brow. The other man makes an absolute mess of him—hot, sticky strands covering his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his _scar_.

_Jesus._

It's too much and not enough all in the same instance. Doesn't make Locus feel low or lesser. Only claimed. Like Felix would enjoy covering him in his come and parading him around town to make it fully known just who Locus belonged to.

The image seizes his heart. Makes Locus groan roughly while Isaac's pretty little slit keeps opening to spurt out more hot seed, covering him completely. Locus keeps drawing on the cock in hand, milking him for every drop, until the last few strands land headily on his chin and down his neck.

Only after Isaac is fully spent does Locus pull away. He groans a rough, pleased sound and rakes both hands down the other man's pale stomach. Grabs the washcloth from last night to wipe the mess from his features.

Softly, Locus presses his nose against skin and breathes deep.

Rests like this for a while, basking in the sensation of listless fingers carding through his shoulder-length hair.

"Isaac," he mumbles—a praise more than a name.

Slides up the bed until he can curl lazily against the other man's side. Arm slung over his chest, petting his ribcage.

An immense affection burns through Locus' blood. He smiles, a soft and helpless thing, wet lips pulled upward, eyes little storm clouds that slant with his amusement.


	16. Scene XVI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Winding down a bit more here! The next chapter is pretty much the last one, with a final Epilogue after that which I'll post at the same time.
> 
> Thanks so much for the amazing support. 💚🧡
> 
> —

After their first time, ah, _doing it_ in the kitchen, Locus having finished cooking them dinner, both hands busy washing dishes in the sink, and Felix sauntering up to his side with a coy smirk on his lips, the way he slid to his knees between Locus' legs, took him in so pleasantly—

After, Locus leans against the kitchen counter, sweat on his brow and breath panting heavily through his chest, and blinks over at Felix (now risen) with the sudden realization that he's never been this happy.

Never.

Even his past life all those years ago, ring on his finger and well on his way to a typical civilian existence, he hadn't felt the same sort of tightness in every pore of his skin that he feels when Felix slants eyes his way and gives him that customary sly grin.

_I'm falling for him._

Which, okay, sure, that much is obvious at this point, because Locus isn't the sort to even feel physical attraction towards someone he isn't mentally or emotionally invested in.

But it hits him heavily, now, and he can't help but stare at his partner with an unchecked intensity.

"That wasn't exactly sanitary," he says, softly, tone rumbling in that flatly amused way of his, while Locus gestures at the whole of the kitchen around them.

  


It's only been a few days that he and Locus have been this ... _close_. Which is really all Felix knows how to describe it, at this point in time. They're more than they have been, different too, and it's good and great and all too satisfying. A thought that drives him, most of the time, to seek out Loc's company.

Nowadays that generally means one thing, above others.

Sure they still eat together, and play their video game, train -- but it's all different now. Intimate.

Felix doesn't think twice before pressing closer, hands and mouth upon Loc's body before he even knows he's doing such. Can't help the way he's always gravitated to the other man, but this doesn't feel anything but _right_ as an addition.

This is the first time it's happened in the kitchen, though, which really Locus had to have seen coming. The guy was in his element there, all broad and focused, handsome in his intensity as he moves around the room. He commands it and his ingredients and that does everything for Felix.

So after dinner, he shows the man just that. Feels no shame in the way he drops to his knees, swallows his partner down enthusiastically until Locus comes down his throat. Felix is still licking the salty taste from his lips when Loc turns an intense stare his way. The man sounds amused, bland as it is, however, so Felix doesn't suppose he actually minded very much, no matter what he says.

"You just came down my throat, I hardly think 'sanitation' matters much."

His grin is bright, pleased and teasing, as he pushes into Loc's space. They're both leaned against the counter, Felix's hair a little damp from where Loc had been washing dishes. He finds he doesn't mind in the least.

  


An endearing smile graces him. Felix props himself to his right, shorter but no less commanding of a room.

"Blunt as ever," Locus comments, quirking a brow even when the words cause a pleased flush to cling to his throat.

They've been like this for only a few short days. The very act still flusters him nearly as much as that first time. Felix has opened up this whole new world for him, brought pleasure and desire into their daily routine (one that hasn't changed much, for which Locus finds himself rather thankful of).

He plants the heel of his hand against the kitchen counter, arm extended just enough to press itself along Felix's back.

Shared space. A kind touch. The sorts of things Locus hasn't allowed himself in decades. He craves it here, Felix a bright enigma burning through his atmosphere—something Locus would like to wrap himself around.

"I have a question."

Cants his head towards his partner, eyes slanted to the side to peer over at the man.

  


Touch, though it isn't something Felix shys away from, is still something he's getting used to. Not sexual things, that came more than natural, of course. But the simple ones, the easy way Locus (Sam, here, more often than not) leans into him, arm pressing against Felix's back. It's still all too new.

Touching to touch. Something Felix never thought he'd want. Affection, care, even in that very specific _Locus_ way, it comes across all the same.

Everything's worth it for the way Loc flushes, such a nice dusty rose color, one that extends all the way down his throat. Felix has followed it a time or two, with lips and tongue and teeth. It's irresistible.

Locus is irresistible.

"Yeah?"

His voice is a pleased rumble, Felix turns to prop himself up against the counter with his hip. Crosses his arms easily over his chest, still managing to lean into the arm behind him.

"Shoot."

  


More than anything, Locus has discovered a particularly interesting part of himself has resurfaced. He'd known long ago that this character trait existed within him, but had assumed it had gotten burned out after bootcamp at the UNSC, or maybe during the Great War, or after that.

He likes to know the person he's with is happy.

Not in a mundane sense—a good mood influencing his own—but Felix's pleasure brings him pleasure, viscerally. It manifests as a warm buzz crawling through his skin. Origin: their points of contact, the tone of Felix's voice.

How the other man doesn't step away, even though he could. 

"Do you like endearments? Or, ah, pet names, I suppose."

Isaac has given him several, but when Locus thinks about it, he's certain he's never returned the gesture.

Is that something Felix would like?

  


Huh. Definitely not a question expected, but Locus did have the habit of coming off the wall with his questions. Not so much intrusive as unanticipated.

Felix cocks his head to the side, arms still crossed, but expression open. He doesn't answer right away, just watching his partner for a moment, passing over him with some searching gaze. They've been circling each other for years upon years, understanding each other more than anyone, but it's interesting when one catches the other off guard.

"I dunno."

Felix finally answers, honestly, shrug to his shoulders.

"Never really stuck around for long enough to get any."

Also a truth, of course. Felix has always been a one time wham bam kinda guy. Sure, he gives his own little names, but they've never really meant anything. Something to say just to say, to make the other person feel something from him without actually feelings or emotions having to be involved.

Well, present company isn't quite included in that.

  


"Hm."

A soft sound. Felix peers up at him in a cute, genuine way, and Locus has trouble not leaning down immediately to kiss the look right off his face.

"Something to explore, then."

He can't resist the temptation for long.

Locus leans down and presses his lips to Felix's forehead. A lingering moment of affection that buzzes through his chest even as he pulls away.

Grey eyes flick fondly over. Thoughts of names, adjectives, fly through his head, like numbers in an equation. Handsome, pretty, wild thing. His shark, his predator.

"I'm afraid I'll be around for quite some time."

Said with an amused smirk.

Yes, they've been circling each other for years. But the circle has gotten tighter, and instead of feeling claustrophobic as they've pressed in on each other, Locus only feels known.

  


Sam leans forward, lips placing a gentle kiss over the flat of Felix's forehead. Affection tastes sweet, like honeycomb sitting right on the tip of his tongue. 

Could he have had this before? Have years of his life been wasted from the lack of this feeling?

Felix swallows around his suddenly dry throat. Gazes straight into the fond expression upon Sam's face and realizes no, it hasn't been a waste. Nothing would feel the same as this. Only Sam.

No one could look at Felix like this and make him feel it.

"Good."

  


—

  


Three months just like this, with Felix at his side, _partner_ in more ways than one, and it still feels just as new and exhilarating as the first kiss they shared in the kitchen.

Locus taps out, panting, brow beaded with sweat, and a blossoming bubble of pride expanding in his chest as Felix pins him down on the workout mat with perfect, precise form.

Once released from the hold, Loc rolls onto his back and takes a deep breath.

" _Good,_ " he says, voice rumbling and pleased.

He stares over at Felix from his prone position. Gaze lidded, soft.

Usually, he'll give pointers for a proper grapple after the initial attempt. An adjustment here. A shift in position there.

Today, he has nothing to give.

"Perfect."

His hair has gotten long enough now for him to keep it in a short ponytail. He turns his head so the band doesn't push against the floor and bring discomfort to the back of his skull.

  


Flopping back onto his ass, Felix takes a deep, steadying breath to try and calm his speeding heart. Sparring sessions haven't gotten harder, per say, but Felix feels less focused half the time with Locus being so close. No matter how much they go at it in the bedroom, it's like a drug, all that smooth dark skin.

All of his brain power goes into the motions of grapples and take downs, mainly so Felix doesn't pop a boner in the middle of training. Not that it hasn't happened before, but they gotta give it a rest sometimes, right?

He's left smirking at his own thoughts, though his expression can't keep from softening as Felix looks over to Loc, laying prone on the mats and giving him that easy look. Easier compliments that never cease to light a fire in Fi's gut. It's nice. Perfect, even, just as he's told.

"Damn right I am."

Grins, bright and pleased.

God, but Locus looks perfect just like this too. Gleaming in a light sheen of sweat, chest expanding with each panting inhale, the length of his hair finally able to be pulled back into some little ponytail. He looks like _Felix's_.

And that's not something he can resist.

Felix finds himself pushed into motion, legs suddenly straddling Loc's hips, hands balancing him up against the man's chest. He looks down with a wild little grin.

  


One thing Locus will never quite acclimate to, no matter their years together and no matter their shift in relationship, is the absolutely hungry way that gleaming grin turns to him in moments like these. It picks him apart like a buzzard nibbling on roadkill.

Which is probably an odd first thought to have, but it feels just as romantic as anything else Locus could have imagined. That even in waste, no matter what Locus ends up becoming, Felix will find some parts of him worthy to devour.

Seems he might be eaten up sooner rather than later, with the way his partner straddles his waist again, plants firm hands on Loc's panting chest, a manic smile on a familiar face just daring him to pretend to protest.

Locus finds no bone within his body that could possibly deny this many anything.

Grips Felix's hips to steady him, even while grey eyes fall to warm slits.

"You realize we got off just this morning, yes?"

Not that it matters. Months, and Locus feels just as insatiable as Felix has been.

  


"You realize that's never gonna stop me, yes?"

Felix fires right back, quip at the ready, but all in all it's rather honest just the same.

It's been months that they've been _more_ , that Felix has woken up in Locus' bed, that they've taken their showers together, their pleasure together, and it feels just as pleasing and electric as it had that first time. He can't get enough, and Locus always seems right there with him.

Sometimes though?

It's nice just to be present and touch. Felix plays it off as sexual in the here and now, straddling Locus like he has some sort of something planned, when in all reality? He just wanted to be here, sitting pretty atop the only man he wishes to see, feel, touch, lo --.

Oops, almost got carried away there.

Felix shakes himself of the sudden _too much_ in his chest. Grins down at his partner, though it's fallen rather soft.

"You just look really good like this."

  


A thin eyebrow raises at the compliment—amused, but no less affectionate. As much as their relationship has taken a sexual turn, Locus has found a great deal of pleasure from the surprising fact that, sometimes, Felix just wants to be near him.

Doesn't admit it, never has and likely never will, but there is often the press of knees while Locus watches him play his video game, or an arm slung casually around his waist while they walk to the kitchen for dinner, or those soft moment when Felix wakes before he does and Locus pretends to still be asleep after rising just so he can bask in the way lithe fingers trail down his arm or over his stomach, touching just to touch.

If he'd been falling for Felix a few months ago, well, he's certainly beyond the point of no return now.

Thumbs stroke along the waist held between his hands. Every breath comes deep and paced, and Locus relaxes beneath the weight of Felix, perfectly aware of how much blood is on this man's hands, yet finding it impossible not to trust this position.

If they had lube, he's certain he'd like Isaac fuck him, right here right now.

His own thought makes him huff an amused sound. He shakes his head slowly, then focuses on the man pinning him intimately to the mat.

"Sweat-stained and bested from our sparring session. You have an interesting idea of what _good_ looks like."

An easy tease.

Locus doesn't move, other than the measured way his fingers pet and squeeze the pale flesh beneath them.

  


Fingers press against him, thumbs stroking easily along his hips, lips quirk at him, eyes smile. Nothing has ever been as simple as this, and yet Felix is filled to the brim.

They're both monsters in their own ways, or have been in the past. Maybe still are, Felix isn't certain that he would be able to be so easy going if they were around outside stimuli. He hungers for it, at times, only feels soothed by the patient touch of this man. It's good, though, that Felix can feel tamed.

Feels that way now, pinned to the spot even as the hands around his waist hold him so lightly.

Felix finds his own fingers daring to trace over Loc's sweat damp shirt, outlining muscle and scars that he cannot see but has memorized the placement of.

"You look like mine."

Doesn't buck up against the tease as he's wont to do, even though he thinks about it. Says what's on his mind instead. Gets it out in the air between them, because he can and he wants to. His gaze finds Loc's again, his own brow raising in mimic of the one the other man had shot at him not a moment ago.

  


_Oh._

The words punch him in the stomach far more fiercely than gentle fingers outlining his scarred skin. Felix looks at him like hearing such a thing _hadn't_ torn him down—haughty, playful.

Honest.

With a rumble, Locus flips their positions (the hold had been miniscule at best) until his arms cradle Felix's head between them, and his cock (now thoroughly invested in today's proceedings) presses against Felix's own through layers of sweatpants.

Locus grinds just there, a blown out heat behind expanded pupils, lips parted and panting already.

"Maybe," he says, flicking his tongue out to wet his lower lip.

"That's because I am."

  


—

  


It had taken a significant amount of hindsight for Locus to truly understand the social cues Felix had exhibited all those months ago, when they had first gotten drunk together.

The lingering looks, squirming in his seat, off-hand comments that hadn't made much sense then—he'd been horny.

Now, Locus has a question that can only be answered via the scientific method.

What will a drunk Felix do to him, given free rein of his desires?

"Another?" Locus asks, his own speech drawling out more casually than usual.

He waves the (second) bottle of whiskey, his partner's poison of choice, in the other man's direction. At this point, he's melded with the beanbag chair, but doesn't mind it, if only to witness the sloppy meander of Drake on screen as Felix's hand-eye coordination has slowly devolved.

Should he warn Felix about that group of enemies hiding behind that building on the left?

Nah.

  


This is, undoubtedly, the most drunk he's been since Felix had found their huge stash of booze in the first place. Probably more so, considering they were now drinking his liquor of choice and therefore he has very little ability to keep himself from going off the deep end, so to speak.

They're on the second bottle of whiskey before Felix even thinks that he's well into pissed. Not that he can fully be blamed, Locus was just as drunk as he was (probably?) and only feeding him more. Hell, he'd suggested it in the first place, and had been keeping up a steady stream of drinks since ... hours ago (?).

But it's good, really damn good, because Felix doesn't have to hide. Grins wide as he accepts more whiskey into his cup, expression dopey and affectionate, even as he maneuvers Drake into a precarious situation. Doesn't matter, not really, not with Loc's leg pressed up against his own, heady and warm.

"S'hot."

Unlike last time, Felix feels no shame in ridding himself of his shirt once he becomes overheated. Sighs with it, even as his skin sticks to the pleather of the beanbag chair below him.

  


With a hum, Locus turns greedy eyes toward skin revealed. Knows every scar intimately by now, but can't help but appreciate each and every one of them all over again when so freely given for him to view.

"Mhm," he agrees, gaze lingering.

His leg nudges more prominently against Felix's own. He can't help the way his stomach flutters when that wide grin greets him as he pours out another drink for the slighter man beside him. Despite their differences in stature, Felix has kept pace, though definitely seems to be feeling the effects of the alcohol more prominently than Locus.

"Don't make yourself sick with it," he admonishes lightly, though his tone is all amusement.

He can't take his eyes off the other man.

Every part of him is appealing, from the wicked attitude, the snarky voice, to deadly muscles honed to kill, right on display.

Locus wets his lips.

Drags his gaze back to the television screen.

  


More comfortable with the lack of shirt, Felix turns his attentions to the man beside him. The one who can't seem to keep his eyes pointed anywhere else but his partner. Oh yeah, even this drunk Felix can feel the heated weight of that intense stare, the one that lingers over the curves of his body, his face.

There's a certain power in having such an effect on Locus. One that eats Felix up on the inside, burns him at his core at any one point in the day, but the feeling is exponential in these types of situations.

Had Loc looked at him when they'd done this before? Felix only remembers himself being drawn to the other man. Watching him, eyeing that sliver of dark skin at his stomach where these stupid tiny shirts would always ride up. Coveting any moment their hands or legs would brush so innocently.

Felix feels that same fire here, bubbling up in his gut as he glances over just in time to see a wet, pink tongue flick out over Loc's lips. A little hurt noise escapes him, electricity fizzling just at the base of his spine.

"I won't. Know my limits, big guy, don't you worry."

He's slurring, but steady otherwise, for the moment at least. This'll have to come to an end soon though, or he won't be able to get it up, and fuck does he want to. Aches with it, looking over at the man he feels such an absurd amount of _feelings_ for.

  


"Oh, I'm perfectly aware you know your limits."

Said while he lolls his head to the side, immediately giving up on keeping his attention anywhere but on the other man in the room.

Because Felix is _handsome_. Moreso when Locus knows him so thoroughly, and is nothing but eager to know even more. Every piece.

"The concern is whether or not you will adhere to them."

When drunk, as Locus certainly is, his voice takes on a particular quality. It doesn't slur. More like, he takes extra care in pronouncing each syllable to prevent such a thing from happening.

What he cannot prevent, however, is the low, rough quality it takes on. Like there's a mismatch of tumbling rocks in his chest, eager to topple over each other while every word pulls from his throat.

God, did Felix always look this good? Locus thinks he could press him against that ridiculous chair right now, fold warm hands over skinny knees, and press his mouth between the other man's legs until he started begging for Locus to cease.

Okay, well, maybe this scientific experiment is starting to backfire.

  


"Well shit, ya got me."

Felix speaks on the edge of a giddy little laugh, though he hadn't quite meant to do much more than think the words, they release from his lips anyway. Oops, he's had quite a bit, yeah, too much to keep anything to himself apparently. But that's alright with him, nothing he could say to Locus at this point that the guy doesn't already know.

So it's with a relaxed air about him that Felix sighs, brings his cup up to his lips for a long sip. Doesn't blanch at the strong taste, but hums, content, even as the tone of his lover's voice shoots through him like so much molten steel.

Locus doesn't always sound like that, more like he only takes that gravelly tone in very few situations, and those types of situations have Felix reacting in a most Pavlovian way.

He sounds exactly like he does on the tail end of giving Felix one of those never ending blowjobs he just so loves to dote. Ones where he teases Felix within an inch of his life, tongue over his cock, his needy hole, everywhere all at once. Keeps Felix on the edge for hours, and by the end of it Locus can barely speak with how fucking wrecked his throat is.

Fuck, yeah, he sounds exactly like that and Felix can't help the way he immediately has to reach down and adjust himself none too subtly in his sweats. He's barely even paying attention to the screen now, but really there are more important things in the room now to even think about Drake and how Felix is definitely about to get him killed.

  


He smiles—genuine, small as it is, but warm and pleased with how airy Felix is. Would make some comment about how he typically is right, it's only ever up to Felix to trust his judgment, when the man reaches down and _touches himself._

An adjustment, clearly, but god if it doesn't reach into Locus' body and shake his spine.

Fuck.

Okay.

Yeah, Locus isn't prepared for how much a half-naked Felix affects him. He clears his throat.

"This might not have been the best idea."

Brain-mouth filter decimated by whiskey.

  


"Hm?"

It's questioned immediately, because isn't this something that they do all the time?

Felix squints over at the other man, confused for the moment as to what, exactly, Locus could be talking about. What could be bad about this? They're playing their game, pressed together in their stupid beanbag chairs, drinks in hand -- and actually, that's pretty much the only thing different about this situation.

He looks to the bottle of whiskey now relocated on the floor, before looking back to Locus.

"Were you ... ?"

Trailing off, Felix comes to a drunken conclusion that makes him grin, wide and predatory (though it's a little lacking, considering he's having a bit of trouble focusing his eyes).

"Samuel Ortez, were you trying to get me _drunk?_ "

  


Affronted at being so thoroughly called out (and with the way Felix looks at him in such a way, calls him by his full name—something that always gives his insides a little wiggle) Sam averts his gaze to the screen.

_"No."_

...

_"Maybe."_

He'd thought it might be _interesting_. To see Felix's raw reactions, no filter. He hadn't accounted for his own reactions, or how seeing his partner so loose and happy would reach into his heart, instilling within him an undeniable arousal cozied up against a pleased lov—

Oh.

Huh.

Maybe Locus is more drunk than he'd previously imagined.

He chances a glance Felix's way.

  


There is nothing more to do than laugh, something bone deep and pleased, Felix throws his head back with it, one arm coming up to wrap securely around his stomach as if it could plop right out onto the floor in his mirth.

"God, you're such an idiot, I love it."

Filter still entirely broken, Felix doesn't even think twice about the words he's spoken, even after they've left his lips. Locus is acting seriously adorable right now, how can he not love it? The way he moves and thinks and speaks, reacts and breathes and _looks_. Jesus, it's all utter perfection and he can see it crystal clear with his drunken glasses on.

"And what did you hope to achieve in doing such a thing, hm?"

Laughter gone, Felix's expression darkens, a smirk growing wide at his lips. He's certain he's the one that sounds like an idiot now, no way can he be suitably sexy when he's stuck slurring all his words, but he tries his best, alright?

  


It is the alcohol, and nothing more, that flushes Loc's dark cheeks. The whiskey compels him to cup a large hand around the back of his neck. Liquor prompts him to splutter, eyes averted once again, and fluster at the sound of that ringing laugh.

He never knew how much he enjoyed the sound, before.

"It ... was simply an experiment," he supplies, swallowing thickly when another glance over reveals a wicked look turning Felix's face from pleased to _hungry._

Jesus.

Feeling as if there is no hope for him, and never has been, Locus shimmies down in his seat, legs widening with his melted posture, and does his best not to succumb quite so easily to a man he's already addicted to.

"The outcome was indeterminable."

His tongue slips up a bit on that last word.

  


From hungry to blown out, Felix holds no power over the expression his face acquires when Locus reacts.

It floors him a bit, the way the other man flusters, pretty dusty rose at his cheeks, the hand at the back of his neck, the all out sputter he gets for his troubles. God, Loc looks good enough to eat like this and Felix can feel his mouth water with it.

Watches close as he can the way Locus spreads out, melts into the chair below him and tries his best to look like Felix hasn't gotten under his skin. Says the outcome of his 'experiment' was indeterminable (tripping over the word, fucking hell is there anything better than a drunken Locus?) but Felix doesn't believe that for a second.

"Oh I think you knew exactly what would happen."

Palming himself again, Felix exhales nice and slow, the heat from the alcohol mixing perfectly with the fire Locus burns inside of his chest.

"But I want you to fuck my face first."

Quirks a challenging brow Loc's way.

  


—

  


"Alright," Locus says, standing. The motion pushes the kitchen chair backwards with a sickening scrape.

"It's been two and a half hours, and you decide to just _take the last railroad._ "

An indignant heat boils in his gut. He could punch the smug bastard sitting across from him right now.

At the beginning of this whole "trapped in a flying metal coffin" experience of theirs, he'd found a small array of old board games stuck up on a shelf in the rec room. Today is the first time they've attempted playing Monopoly together, because there are only so many times they can maintain the same routine.

Monopoly has been, and always will be, a game that destroys any seemingly sturdy bond.

Locus has meticulously planned his funds and property management over obtaining all of the railroad stations. He'd gotten three of them with his own luck and forethought, but Felix had snatched up the last under his nose, and now he _refuses to trade._

"What do you want for it?"

With slit eyes, Locus crosses his arms and settles back down into his seat, glaring at Felix from across the kitchen table.

  


So, here's the thing about Felix, right?

If there are buttons to push, by any and all means, he's going to smash his grubby little fingers into them just to see what reactions he can get, just to see what _happens_.

This little board game hasn't escaped that, and neither has Locus while playing with him. Felix just can't help it, has seen the man be so meticulous over the last few (basically three, _three_ ) hours they've been at this and that's a weakness if he's ever seen one. The guy has been so hell bent on getting all the railroads, it was actually physically impossible for Felix not to get one when he finally lands on it.

Has been hoping the whole game, but as luck would have it, it's the last one and Locus is borderline furious over it.

Fucking. Hilarious.

Felix knows he's got a smug as shit look on his face, but he's just eating this up. Will there be consequences? Probably.

"It's mine, I don't wanna trade for it."

Can he even think to care about them? Not in the least.

  


"It's yours," he repeats, flatly. It doesn't sound like a question, nor a statement of fact. It sounds like a pistol, cocked.

Despite the fact that it's a mindless, stupid little game, they've still invested _so much time_ into it, and Locus had a goal in mind that is now unreachable due to Felix's warped sense of ... what?

_"Why?"_

The sort of hissing anger wrapped around Loc's voice is only ever heard when he's particularly, viciously frustrated.

His fingers tap against the metal table.

He looks at the board between them, then to Felix (and his dumb stupid idiotic shitty fucking _face_ ), then to all the properties Loc currently holds.

"I'll give you anything for it."

There. Surely that will pique his partner's greedy little heart.

  


Shit, he hasn't seen Locus this mad since they'd first arrived in the middle of nowhere, and Felix had refused to talk to him for a few weeks. That feels like a lifetime ago, now that he thinks about it. How angry they'd both been, confused and hurt and alone.

It's so much different now, but Felix and Locus, at their cores, are the same people.

When Loc asks his vicious, hissed _'Why?'_ that's all Felix can really think. He'll never be the nice guy, the good guy who doesn't do shit just to piss people off. Just to show that he can have the upper hand in anything. Does that make him bad? Who knows.

Felix doesn't respond for a long moment, props his chin up in the cupped palm of his hand as he lounges with an elbow against the table between himself and his lover turned murderer. Probably an exaggeration, but shit, it could still happen. The thought makes him grin ever wider.

"I'll give you this," he holds up the flimsy little card displaying an ancient locomotive, the only valuable property in his possession.

"For your three railroads."

  


A wickedly angry expression goes decidedly flat at the answer provided.

Felix lounges across from him, and in any other situation Locus might consider the pose, cheek cupped in hand, something endearing.

Here, he's liable to spill blood.

With a deep, almost painful breath, Locus calms himself outwardly. Straightens up in his seat with that perfect posture of his.

That's right.

Felix just wants to see the world burn.

Locus had never really expected anything less. The man enjoys chaos in all forms. Would probably enjoy watching Locus' fist come flying at his face, just for the blood it would spill.

He can't blame his partner for this. It's only natural, and stuck in a vacuum so to speak, where else is Felix supposed to turn to express this inherent nature of his?

That doesn't make Locus any less enraged.

"Alright," he says, cold, calm.

He stands.

Grabs the edge of the board and pushes it cleanly off the table, pieces scattered, clattering across the floor.

A minute show of violence that at least keeps his hands from wrapping around the other man's neck.

Crosses his arms and extricates himself neatly from the room, without looking back.

  


—

  


"Y'know."

Felix starts, conversationally, even though he's still panting from exertion after his and Loc's latest romp through the sheets of Felix's bed. They're tangled around his feet in a mildly irritating way, but he's comfortable where he's laid, sprawled out across a broad, warm chest.

His favorite place to be for the last few months.

"I really hate that your dick is so big you can't fuck me with it."

It's spoken with some pouty tone, like it's pretty much the biggest travesty in the known universe. He soothes himself by tracing little doodles across pale scars over Locus' stomach and chest. Places his lips over each one in gentle, open mouthed kisses. They taste of clean skin and salty sweat.

The lower he gets, the more he tastes their mingled release. He hums, pleased for it.

  


If he hadn't already spent himself so thoroughly his bones have lost density and become jelly, he'd start at the blunt words thrown his way.

As it stands, all he can do is melt beneath Felix's hand, eyes barely able to keep themselves open, though he's not necessarily sleepy.

Just content. Immeasurably so.

He huffs an amused breath. Curls his arm more tightly around Felix's shoulders, fingertips gliding lazily up and down his partner's spine.

"The lack of appropriate lube on this ship is a travesty."

He's thought about it more and more lately. How intimately close they've gotten. How, even though Locus has never experienced such a thing before, he wouldn't mind getting even closer to Felix.

Wants to know what it would feel like. To be as near to this man as two bodies can be.

Unfortunately, they don't have the means to accomplish such a thing. At least, not without immense preparation, and honestly? Locus isn't sure he's ready for that sort of thing.

Regardless, he sighs. Can almost feel the sweet clench of Felix around him, with the man's mention of it. No matter. What they share now is more than Locus could have ever hoped for.

He lifts a hand to stroke evenly through soft locks of hair.

"I've made a decision, by the way."

  


"Hm?"

The answering question is voiced immediately, curiosity something that's hard to come by these days. It's nice to know that he isn't completely inside Loc's head at all times. They've been so close these days it's like they finish each other's sentences and thoughts before they're even in the ether between them.

Not necessarily a bad thing, but Felix is a certain type of man with a certain type of personality. Locus hasn't grown stale, but this sedimentary life has lost any previous glean.

Though really, his mind is half on the 'travesty' he'd brought up just moments before. How he wished that, in the very least, could be different. It isn't something he's that well versed in, however, and something Locus hasn't done at all -- getting fucked, that is. So it wouldn't be the best thing for either of them to barrel headfirst into that type of situation.

Maybe it'll happen. At some point. They could always get adventurous with fucking butter or olive oil, but Felix drew a line in some fucking concrete on that subject a long time ago, and he's hesitant to fill it in.

"What's that?"

  


"Your ... pet name," he reminds the other man.

It seems Felix has no end to little endearments thrown Locus' way. Big guy, or Loc, or in the heat of intertwined bodies, baby.

Locus, however, has been wracking his brain for an appropriate name to give to Felix, and nothing seems correct.

Nothing seems good enough. Doesn't properly express how he feels about his partner, and so, after a long month of consideration, Locus had come to a rather simple conclusion.

He turns his face, tucks his chin low enough to press his nose against the top of Felix's scalp, breathing in the clean scent of him.

"I've decided what to call you."

  


His what now?

Felix feels his brows come together, pinching across his forehead in confusion for a moment as he wracks his brain on what Locus could be talking about. It takes a few seconds, long enough for the other man to tuck his face down, press his nose against Felix's scalp.

Locus had asked him a few months ago, hadn't he?

_"Do you like endearments?"_

There hadn't been a real answer to give. He hadn't ever gotten any real nicknames at any point of his life. Isaac wasn't so easily shortened, even though his youngest sister would call him Issy when she was too young to pronounce the full name. Other than that he's only gone by Felix over the years.

As for pet names, that was spur of the moment. Some pretty little thing in his bed, telling him 'harder, baby' hardly constituted for what Locus was asking. It meant nothing. Locus did not.

"What would that be, then?"

His voice is light, quiet between them, as he tries to curl ever closer to Loc's chest as if he could sink down into the other man and be completely absorbed. It's what he wants, after all.

  


Arm tightening when Felix tucks himself nearer, Locus takes a moment to gather his thoughts. He's considered this for quite some time now.

"Well," he begins, pulling his face away just enough for his voice to be clear. Warm breath still ghosts over soft brown hair.

"I've come to the conclusion that I'm not very good at them."

A quiet admission.

In all these months, he hasn't come up with an appropriate, organic name to give to his partner. Nothing quite felt right. Nothing he imagined had stuck.

He has, however, come up with a sort of in-between. Naked as he's been, Loc feels a little more naked now, baring the private thoughts he usually keeps tucked deep in his mind.

"I've decided I will call you Fi when indulgent, and Isaac when particularly endeared."

Pause.

He nuzzles lower, until his lips just brush over the shell of Felix's ear.

"But in the end, you are only ever just _mine_."

  


Of course to a man such as Locus, the event of thinking up a nickname for someone would be just that. An event.

He has been thinking it over for months, that much is more than certain, because that's when it was brought up and he's bringing it up again now as if it was always part of the conversation. Here Felix was thinking about getting his dick wet, and Loc was on about a _pet name_.

Endearing. Very Locus.

Felix hides his indulgent grin against his partner's sternum, undeniably pleased, for whatever reason. He waits patiently for Locus to continue, however, and isn't so surprised when a stereotypical nickname for him isn't found. Not that Locus is actually 'not very good at them', but Felix isn't really the sort to adhere to them.

Maybe he could've been, at one point, but that isn't who he is now.

Locus does throw him for a bit of a loop, however. _Fi when indulgent, Isaac when endeared._ Felix's breath hitches in his throat, presses against his chest.

_Just mine._

"Think I'm good with that."

It's no more than a whisper, his response as Felix clings to Locus. Doesn't look up, feelings worn on his sleeve as they are.

He'd never anticipated this outcome for them, snuffed out and insignificant in some tin can floating in space, but Felix knows now that at least he can die happy belonging to Locus.


	17. Scene XVII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're like the calmest  
> Slit to my neck  
> Bring me in closer  
> Spruce up my soul and you fill it with coal  
> Then you douse it in lava  
> Chained to my desk  
> Beckoning nausea  
> Desperately chosen from a crowd of one
> 
> — Mr. Rattlebone, Matt Maeson  
> —

The thing is, Locus has known for a very long time that they're going to die there. _The Attie_ still has a faulty slipspace engine and neither of them have the knowledge or means to fix it, and despite Locus having religiously checked the comms system for a reply to the SOS he sent out a year ago, that constantly pings every available frequency, the radio has been silent.

One year, three months.

They've been trapped in a dead quadrant of unoccupied space for over a year. No one is coming to rescue them. They can't even rescue themselves.

Locus has known this for quite some time, and yet today, for some reason, the simple inevitability of their death hits him a little harder than most days.

Because now that he has this thing with Felix, he doesn't really want to die. Not that he's ever really desired a much-deserved end to his life, but he feels as if he's just discovered his humanity—is still discovering it each and every day—and these past few months swaddled in the excitement and belonging this developed relationship with Felix has brought him, only makes the desire to live that much stronger.

But they're not going to live.

Their food reserves have dwindled. Perishables are gone, save for what Locus had preemptively frozen. They have about a year and a half left for nourishment, then however long it will take for their internal organs to eat themselves for lack of caloric intake.

Maybe he should ask Felix to kill him before that happens.

In the meantime, Locus finds himself breaking from schedule. It's the weekend, so at least Felix isn't expecting him in the rec room for training in the morning. Instead, Locus checks the SOS, finds no response, and settles heavily in the chair he had, all that time ago, sunk against with bruised ribs and what amounted to a stranger staring fire at him from the pilot's seat.

There he remains for the better part of the day. Eyes glassy. Black tee too small. Watches the unchanging float of distant gaseous matter curl at the edge of his vision, beyond the clear viewing window.

No. The problem isn't that he's going to die.

The problem is, he only gets a short amount of time left with someone he knows, without doubt, given the time, he's going to fall in love with.

Sighing, Loc leans back into his chair. Presses a hand over his closed eyes.

This _sucks._

  


Days come and go, come and go, without any real passage of time to speak of. Locus has kept him on a schedule, sure, but all of the same has lulled Felix into some weird sort of no man's land.

He's enjoying his time with his partner, now that they've become so much more than that. Learning one another has broken up the monotony a bit, given him some drive, something to focus on. That said, it's still not enough to fully take away the feeling of sand slipping between his fingers.

Something he'd come to terms with a long time ago, months and months, before he and Locus started their thing for sure. Now it's just an inevitability he's compartmentalized, if he's honest with himself. Because it's not something that's going to change, right?

This is their life now and that's all there is to it. He's just trying to make the best of what he's got.

Though that's easier said than done when the largest part of his new life has disappeared.

Locus doesn't show up for breakfast, which is a little strange, but not entirely unheard of. It's the weekend, after all, and they're allowed to do their own thing. Felix is known to need his space at times, so he doesn't blame Loc for needing that as well.

Time passes, however, and there's still no sign of the other man.

Which immediately puts Felix in a sour mood. Or, that's too shitty of a word for it. It makes him pouty, sullen, as he begins to roam each corner of the ship where Locus could be.

Not in the showers, in either of their rooms, the cargo bay, the kitchen -- he's about ready to give up and start to throw a little tantrum before he remembers the one place he never really finds himself. The cockpit. No real reason for him to go in there, but Locus does frequent it every morning to check the comms for any response to their SOS call.

Interested now, more than anything, Felix finds himself pressing through the door of the room without much preamble only to find Locus sitting in one of the pilot chairs, hand over his face.

"Loc?"

  


It would be easier if he had died in the rubble and Felix had died pursuing the Sim Troopers. But when have their lives ever been easy?

As cathartic a thought as it is, it's still an unsatisfying one. No, it doesn't matter the abject hurt he feels now, some amorphous pain residing in his chest. What matters is he has Felix, in every sense one man can have another, and Felix has him just the same.

It will be okay to die like this. He would have just preferred to _live_ like this, more.

That always soothing voice glides across the room. Funny, Locus hadn't noticed the other man coming in. Too lost in thought.

It's with a deep, slow breath that Locus drags his hand away from his face. Tips back in the chair far enough to look at Felix behind him, head hanging over in an upside-down pose, so it's as if Felix is standing on the ceiling.

One word, one glimpse of this man, and his hurt both alleviates, and magnifies to unhealthy proportions.

Grey eyes only hold softness, however. Something morose, beaten down.

"Hi."

  


There is little motion about the room, some blinking lights, internal hum of machinery, and Locus as soon as the man notices Felix is there. He'd looked for all the world completely lost in his own head, which wasn't uncommon, but disconcerting once he came to.

Felix watches as his partner dips back in the chair to look at him, upside-down. A motion that would be endearing if the other man were wearing any other expression upon his face.

Cocking his head to the side, Felix takes the situation in quickly, with a discerning eye.

Something is obviously wrong, what with the way Locus had been cooped up here all day, and that in addition to the soft, crumbled look in his eye spells something awfully depressing must be going on in the guy's head. It's easy to deduce, what with their location and the obvious details, but Felix doesn't put words in Loc's mouth.

"Hey there, big guy."

His own voice is neutral, calm. Felix reads the room, but doesn't ask, merely keeps himself open to conversation if Locus would like to have one. Makes his way over to the chair his partner inhabits, presses forth two fingers to trace along the curve of a sharp, pretty jawline.

  


No comment on his current state of affairs, though Locus knows, with all of Felix's ability to deduce most situations, the guy can probably figure out the mood in here isn't exactly light.

Still, he presses forward, undaunted as ever. Asks no questions. Simply dotes a kind touch along Locus' jaw, which prompts him to close his eyes so to better soak in the sensorial feel of it.

When he opens them again, it's to peer up at his lover for a lingering moment. The blink of subdued lights shades pale skin in soft green and yellow. A white ceiling lamp halos Felix's head, causing a pretty ring to feather softness through his hair.

This is the moment Locus would like to remember when he dies.

He reaches up, curling long, dark fingers around Felix's wrist.

"We should make a bucket list," he says, leaning into the touch on his face.

"Things we would like to do before we die."

  


Ah, there it is. The crux of the problem laid out before him, not in so many words, but Felix can read between any lines Locus sets. A special trait that's survived the years they've been together, soldiers, bounty hunters, mercenaries. Lovers.

Doomed lovers with only a miniscule amount of time left.

Locus wants to make a bucket list. It sounds childish, in a way, naïve or something like that, but Felix can't fault the guy for it. Doesn't, as long fingers curl around his wrist, keep him close as Loc leans into the touch at his face.

Endeared, Felix gives a little huff of almost-amusement, lips quirked and expression soft, more affectionate than the neutral calm it had started out as. Locus has that effect on him, certainly.

"Alright."

It's simple. If Locus wants it, then they'll do it.

"I want to teach you how to throw knives, first of all."

  


Without protest, Felix slides into place right behind Loc's idea, with nothing but a charming look in his eye. Tense shoulders relax immediately, and Locus offers a smile that pulls genuinely across his face.

A thank you, quiet, affectionate.

"Yes," he agrees readily. That would be interesting, wouldn't it? It isn't his weapon of choice, guns have always been the thing to hold most of his attention.

But if Felix finds merit in it, then it's worthwhile.

Shifting to sit more upright, Locus swivels the chair a bit and pulls his partner closer, nodding at his lap. A silent entreaty to make himself comfortable, preferably while maintaining as much contact as possible because Felix soothes every ruffled part of him.

"I want to make love to you in zero G."

  


His idea finds immediate agreement, just as Loc's had just a moment before. Maybe, as simple and quaint as the idea was, it could bring them something to look forward to, instead of something to despise at the end of it all.

Felix is alright with dying, but it feels like a stab to the gut to realize there will be a time when this all ends.

When the look in Sam's eye doesn't turn all quiet and pleased toward him, when the guy can't make room in his chair for Felix to slide into. When they can't 'make love', as he so eloquently puts it.

It's heavy in his chest and in the back of his mind, but inevitabilities aren't something you fight against, so Felix pushes it aside in lieu of pressing closer to Locus. Knees on either side of the man's hips, they slide together like interlocking puzzle pieces, and there is a contentment here that overwhelms any anxiety waiting to form.

"Now that sounds like a fun time."

He waggles his eyebrows, arms sliding around Loc's shoulders as he settles as close as possible.

"I wanna go on a space walk. We got our armor and tethers, right? Also a fun time."

Fingers slide, one by one, into the downy soft hair at the base of Locus' neck. The majority of it is tied into a little ponytail, but Felix manages to wrangle some strands loose, to play with them just there.

  


They slot together perfectly—an abstract image finding credence and value in the way their edges fit. Hands fall to their natural place along Felix's waist to help balance the other man, though he hardly needs it.

Loc tilts his head back to better look upon his partner's face, a pleased tilt to his mouth when fingers delve into his hair and Felix's eyebrows shift up and down in such a ridiculous way.

"I'd like that," he agrees, blinking slowly. For all the pressure in his chest threatening to swallow him whole, he at least has this man to keep him grounded, steady.

It hurts, _immensely_ , knowing that he's found something so good, only to lose it in such a short amount of time. On the other hand, he's not entirely sure they would have meandered into such an interesting dynamic without getting literally stuck together in such a way.

He's learned so much about Fi over the course of this last year. What foods he prefers (spicy is always a good choice, pulling from Felix a pretty flush on pale cheeks), what tone he finds most amusing, just how many times he can get off in one day, given particular effort and patience.

His past.

His present.

Swallowing thickly, Locus has the thought to avert his gaze for his next "bucket list" request. He can't bring himself to do it.

Finds himself locked in place, looking up at the man who's become his whole world.

"I want you to give me a scar."

A statement accompanied by gentle thumbs dipping below the hem of Felix's shirt, just to touch skin.

  


Locus tips his head back, meeting Felix's gaze with one filled with some heady intensity. It curls right into his chest, makes a home there as Loc doesn't look through him, but maybe inside of him. Stares him down until all that's left is Felix's squishy insides.

Not a look he's been given before. This one that makes him feel miniscule and infinite at the same time. Like he's only one man, but maybe he's something more than that to Locus.

Felix doesn't look away, kind of wants to, but can't bring himself to go through with it. Feels like maybe they need this, for whatever's to come out of Loc's mouth next.

And yeah, ho boy is it a doozy.

Left with that little addition to their 'bucket list', Felix blinks down at his partner, wildly unprepared for whatever the hell that was. _I want you to give me a scar_. Fuck.

They're pressed together intimately, hands in Loc's hair, fingers caressing the soft skin of Felix's hips, and yet there's a sudden yawning chasm between them that Felix understands he has to tread carefully to close. Locus felt his scars had meaning, and yes, they did. Each and every one of them. Now he wants Felix to leave his own claiming mark.

The last partner he'd had left one. That blazing pale 'x' in the middle of his face. It was a calling to that point in his life, to look at that every day and see pain, hurt, rage.

Would it be so bad to mark Sam with something of his own?

Something that he asked for because he knows Felix would be willing, to replace that pain with one a little sweeter.

Scarification has been seen as a ritual, a rite of passage. Maybe Sam could see it as a way of healing, have a physical reminder of moving forward.

Felix takes a deep breath.

"Where?"

Acceptance, appreciation, adoration. All tied up into one word.

  


A shudder passes through him. Warmth in his lap, the cool fingers of his lover pressed to the back of his neck, playing with upended strands of hair pulled from a ponytail, the look in soft brown eyes, understanding, acceptance—Locus will never forget this moment.

A pointed gaze drops, stares at the way Felix's chest expands when he takes a breath. Flicks back up when one little syllable passes from parted lips.

It's with this that Locus realizes they were perhaps not made for each other, but were certainly moulded for each other. That, given their lives, the parallel paths they've walked that led to this moment, there could be no one else in this universe who would fit him as neatly, as precisely, as Isaac.

_Isaac when particularly endeared._

"My wrist."

He pulls both hands away. Taps one, where he's imagined Felix leaving a mark. His right hand. His gun hand. The limb he uses every day, necessary and prescient. He wants to see it, constantly. Wants to touch it. Wants some quiet reminder that these needed parts of him live in tandem.

There is already so much blood on his hands. Felix solidifies it. Doesn't make it go away, but makes it bearable.

Locus grabs hold of his partner's waist again. Peers up at him with a steady gaze.

Thinks maybe this man has always been his world.

  


Chasm crossed, Felix feels no more at ease or relaxed. His body is lax against the one below him, but his heart beats out of his chest.

This wasn't something he'd thought himself doing today. Agreeing to take this piece of Sam, and give one of himself in return. Because that's what it would ultimately come down to. If, or when now, Felix did this, he would undoubtedly leave something behind in this man.

Which, really, is it any different than anything else?

They have given their years for each other, been through so much shit it wasn't even thinkable. And now they would die together, their bodies, this ship, would never be found. Their claim upon each other was for their eyes only.

That Sam wanted to look down ( _my wrist_ , he says) and see Felix written upon him in flesh and blood. It was only for him.

That wrist is tapped, right hand. Felix swallows, throat dry, as he gazes down. It's Sam's gun hand, his dominant appendage, one he uses to chop vegetables, wring water from freshly laundered shirts, touch Felix's face with gentle fingers.

"One condition."

He doesn't clear his throat of the gravely quality of it. Lets Sam hear how this has affected him, lets the other man know that this isn't something Felix is taking lightly, even though that's his usual M.O.

Eye contact is never once dropped.

"You give me one as well."

  


A condition. Not unreasonable, so Locus sits and watches Felix with a patient eye, petting along what small slivers of skin his thumbs can reach.

_You give me one as well._

An immense, almost sickening _happiness_ courses violently through his veins. Locus blinks, wholly affected, and sucks in a sharp breath.

He knows what a scar means for him. A branding mark to carry for the rest of his life. Something to tether him to Felix, permanently, a display of ownership, of his willingness to leave parts of himself behind if only to make way for pieces of his partner to slot neatly into those empty spaces.

But for Felix to demand the same?

Locus tucks his chin down and presses his face firmly against the other man's chest. Laughs, softly, an almost manic sound—it doesn't quite properly represent the inflated bubble expanding in his ribcage, but it comes close.

They're mad, the both of them.

"Yes," he says, pulling away.

The stormcloud in his eyes doesn't temper, but it sways and shifts and makes a place where that violent hailstorm has purpose beyond destruction.

Sometimes, a heavy rain is necessary to cool a hot day.

"Where?"

  


Locus deflates against him like a helium-less balloon. Curls into Felix's chest after a sharp, uneven breath, laughs some quiet sound. It's strained, borderline raving as he pushes close.

Felix understands the sentiment.

This is a wild situation, like many they've found themselves in before, but it's more than that. It's hopeless, deletes a sense of power that had kept them going before. Now it's just them and what they have to live for is each other.

Why wouldn't Felix give just as much of himself as Locus is willing to give? He can't stomach the thought.

Loc pulls back after a moment, looks up at Felix once again with those dark, stormy eyes. Something changes in the gaze, simplifies and solidifies. This is what they were meant for. Maybe not in the beginning, or in the last few years even, but now Felix feels the pull of an invisible thread inside his chest.

"Here."

A hand lifts from where it had been buried in the hair at the nape of Loc's neck, pulls inward until Felix can lift away his shirt at the collar. Gestures to the jutting curve of his clavicle, draws a little 'x' just there over the pale, unblemished skin.

One of the most vulnerable parts of himself, close to chest and throat alike.

  


An eerie focus arrests him, simplifying the room to its most important pieces. The hum of machinery, ever-present. A green light, blinking. Felix, with a hand pulled back, tugging his shirt away from his neck just enough to reveal a pale expanse of skin Locus has tasted over and over again. His pretty clavicle.

A small X, to mark the spot.

Inches above this spot lies his vulnerable trachea and a jugular vein. Below, and a hint to the right, his heart—located between the lungs, behind the sternum, above the diaphragm.

The height of human fragility.

A location not to take lightly. Where Locus has requested a place to be _known_ , Felix has requested a place to be _vulnerable_.

He leans in, planting a warm kiss on the designated spot.

This is what they've perhaps always needed from the other. Locus desires for Felix to have an unforgettable place on his body, a brand to his soul. Felix will never be overlooked again. And with this, Locus knows the effect he's had on his partner, that despite the cruelty they're both capable of, Felix is willing to allow the risk of quiet vulnerability. He's willing to trust.

"Isaac."

_I'm falling for you._

Locus pulls away. Looks up at the man sitting intimately close. His fingers tighten minutely.

"I want to make love to you."

  


His message, it seems, is well and truly understood by the man below him. Felix hadn't been certain, but doesn't understand his own worry as soon as it is assuaged by warm, plump lips gracing his skin.

Locus has always known him, why would this be any different?

This experience has taught them so many things about each other, but Felix is more amazed at the differences he finds within himself when he turns introspective. Never would he have ever thought, all those months ago, that he would let someone this close. Close enough to hurt.

There is nothing fragile about him, but _Sam_ makes him vulnerable. Nothing but thin skin over brittle bone, it's what he feels like when those grey eyes, so damn intense and seeking, search him out. Looked through, but not found wanting. Even after all the blood on his hands, the weight of death and pain on his shoulders. Sam sees through it all until he gets to the squishy bits.

The ones with his name written all over them.

Sam gets it, Felix understands as a kiss is placed over his collar bone, his name upon those same lips. The only ones that know it, now. The only ones that Felix ever wants to speak it again.

If love was something he could feel, it would blossom here. And hell, maybe it is. Or it could be.

"Let's go to bed then."

Felix's arms wrap back around Sam's shoulders, his head tilting to land lightly against the other man's brow. He feels the scar there, rubs himself against it like he could erase such a blemish.

A kiss falls upon the apple of one dark cheek. Another upon the bridge of a wide nose, and on the curve of plush lips.

"I want you to take me apart."

_Because I know you'll put me back together._

Felix stands with that, moves only a pace away before offering up a hand. His gaze is soft, smile softer even, as he leads the way back into the bowels of the ship.


	18. Epilogue

Three hundred and seventy light-years away, on the dark side of Zoul, a medium-sized carrier vessel heats its slipspace engine in preparation to leave the tropical planet's orbit.

It makes a jump.

The crew—three men, two women, and one "other"—come out the other end in dead space, crack into a bottle of some strong Covenant liquor taken from a previous mission, and give a cheer and a toast for a job well done.

Xaz, captain of the little ragtag squad, gets drunk faster than the rest. He takes his second-in-command to bed. He sleeps in after, and she rises to check up on numbers or coordinates or whatever other shit in the cockpit.

She returns with a curious expression wrinkling her forehead.

"Hey boss, there's an SOS hittin' every channel."

Xaz sits upright on the mattress, naked from the waist up. He adjusts the black bandana covering a torn out eye.

"No shit? Out here in the middle of fucking nowhere?"

She nods. Tosses a long braid over her shoulder.

"Should we check it out?"

The room goes quiet while he considers his options. They're toting precious, ah, _commandeered_ cargo, but he's always been the adventurous sort—can't let a curiosity go unanswered.

He uncovers himself, plants bare feet on the floor.

"Yeah, might as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's all folks! Thank you for joining us on this wild ride, all of your support and amazing comments honestly have helped us through some rough patches, so we're infinitely grateful to each and every one of you.
> 
> Some final notes:
> 
> • Will there be a sequel? Yes! Darlin and I have already started writing the next part of this adventure, but we have an AU in the works that we're focused on right now. I can't give a definitive timeline, but I can say we would much prefer having several scenes written in advance so we can give you all a semi-steady schedule of released chapters.
> 
> • Will the AU we're working on right now be posted on AO3? Not sure yet! It's looking promising so far but we're still in the world building stage. 
> 
> If you ever want to see some snippets of other LoFi things we're working on, or just want to chat, you're always welcome to reach out on Twitter (@yoimwander — Wander , @feelickx — darlin).
> 
> Thank you again for everything. 💚🧡


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